


Sick Little Games

by fictive_frolic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers Compound, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Witches, bucky is an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 64,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: Bucky might not want you, but that doesn't mean he wants anyone else to have you either.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Thor, Clint Barton/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 172
Kudos: 569





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky, deep down, knew that he was the reason you had left. That it wasn’t, as you had told Steve and Fury, and anyone else, a sabbatical from the stress. 

But, he didn’t feel bad. He didn’t feel… anything at all really. Just an odd sort of satisfaction. He didn’t really care where you’d gone. Siberia, Florida, Hell. He didn’t care. As long as you weren’t here. Not even Natasha’s disappointment at you being gone. Or the slight worry wrinkle on Thor’s forehead was enough to make him care. You’d needed to go. 

The last thing he needed was some starry-eyed kid with cute little freckles and a can-do attitude underfoot. 

Especially when that kid was in love with him.

Though, Bucky conceded to himself, at least you’d been quiet about it. The longing glances had been brief. Often mistaken for you spacing out. And you being extra helpful? Well, you helped everyone. All the time. Whenever you were asked. He was grateful no one knew what he’d done because if Steve ever found out, he’d never hear the end of it. And Natasha? He didn’t even want to think about that. He had visions of jumper cables and testicles just thinking about that… No. It was better for everyone if you just stayed put. Started a little bakery out in the back of beyond and just hung up your hat. 

The meeting was shorter than usual and Bucky lingered at the table, sipping his coffee and looking over emails idly. Technically it was his off day from dealing with rookies and he was going to make it count by seeing as little of them as possible. But, lingering as he did, he couldn’t help but hear Steve murmur to Natasha, “Nat,” he soothed, “She’s fine. You know this happens every so often. She just gets an itch and goes somewhere for a while.”

“Not like this, Steve,” she insisted, “This came out of nowhere. Usually, there’s been a mission that hits too close to home or… well. Other things.”

Bucky gets the sense that there’s a lot going unsaid because he can hear them and the look on Steve’s face, a sudden worried pensiveness only confirms it. 

“We’ll keep tabs on her,” Steve said after a moment, “How much damage could she do?”

Natasha sighed, “To someone else or herself?”

Steve didn’t answer. He just shook his head, leaving Bucky with more questions than he ever thought he’d have about you. 

____________

B.C. (Before Crush)

Bucky felt lost in this rabbit warren of gleaming, too stark hallways and endless technology. Pannels dotted the halls, Doors slid open. Lights flipped off and on with polite requests. It was mind-boggling. And to make it worse he was hungry and lost. “Fuck, how’s a guy supposed to eat breakfast here,” he groused. It was too fucking early for this. He just wanted coffee and maybe some eggs. Dinner had been some fucking tofu thing Nat had made and Bucky hadn’t been able to eat it. Protein should not have the consistency of jello. It was just wrong. And now he supposed he should have because he felt like his stomach was collapsed in on its self. About the time he was going to breakdown and ask for help a girl with a ponytail and a coffee cup walked around the corner. Distracted for a moment and crashing straight against the solid wall of his chest with a little squeak of surprise, “I- I- I’m so sorry,” she sputtered, turning the same shade as the mug in her hand. 

Bucky grunted and that only made her more flustered, “I- um. Oh no!” Coffe stained his white shirt and she looked distressed. “I there’s paper towel in the kitchen,” she said with a shy smile before turning on her heel and setting off at a trot back the way she’d come. Bucky thanked whatever god might be listening for clumsy interns and followed, listening to the rapid patter of her steps as she raced to get him something to clean up with.

“Y/N, c’mon. How many white shirts are you going to ruin?” Sam teased as Bucky walked through the sliding doors. “Good morning, Sargent grump ass,” Sam said over his mug with a grin, watching him take the paper towels you offer with a scowl.

“I can get the stain out if you like,” you offer helpfully, hesitantly giving him another sweet smile and Bucky takes a second to size you up. You have to be The Huntress. The Glitch in the System. The Anomaly Steve told him about. SHIELD’s very own homegrown answer to HYDRA’s experiments. SHIELD had wanted a new Steve and had made… something else. An occult expert. A master spell caster. A font of all esoteric knowledge. He thought you’d be bigger.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, handing you back the roll of paper towels. Of course, you managed to not get any on you.

“Aww,” Clint said strolling in, surveying the scene, “Bucky got baptized already… And it was coffee. When she spilled something on me it was… Y/N what did you spill on me? I don’t remember.”

Your cheeks burn and you swallow hard, “It was a Pizza I was putting on the counter… You startled me.”

Natasha kicks Clint in the ankle hard enough to make him wince and raises an eyebrow.

“Thor got nailed with a grape snow cone,” he added anyway, hissing. “That was the best one. And also my fault.”

“It was delicious,” Thor chuckled giving you a wink and swooping down to kiss your cheek as he passed. That makes you smile a little but, Bucky notices it doesn’t take long for you to retreat from the compound kitchen, snatching a donut (with sprinkles) with a plate before slipping out. He had a sense you liked a lot less attention than that to start your day. He could sympathize. But still, he had a grudging respect for the way you managed to disappear out of sight and thus out of mind.

“What does Y/N do?” Bucky asked Steve, curious. “Like, what exactly?”

Steve smiled a little, “HYDRA has an army of scientists to cast spells… We. Well. We have a Witch.”

Bucky cocked his head and Natasha smiles. “SHEILD just heightened the powers she was born with,” she explained, “Before she popped up on their radar she had the ability to cast spells. Now she’s fast and strong on top of that.”

“She is formidable in battle,” Thor said approvingly.

“She’s not bad,” Tony said, “Managed to give Loki a decent black eye a few years ago.”

“That’s a metaphor, buddy,” Clint cut in when Thor’s brow furrowed in confusion. Thor nodded and Bucky fought an eyeroll.

“I’ve never seen her in action,” Sam said, pouting.

“There’s a reason for that,” Tony said dropping into a chair, “Watching her tear a monster’s heart out with her bare fucking hands is a little terrifying… We tend to send her with a small group when we can.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow, “Her bare hands, huh?”

“It’s gnarly,” Clint said nodding, glancing back towards the door you’d disappeared through. As though he wanted to make sure you hadn’t heard him. Bucky snorted internally. If you were that badass, it shouldn’t matter. If you were tearing hearts out with your bare hands, the fuck did you care if someone had talked about you. Especially if it was the truth.

Bucky left the table after he’d gotten a bite to eat and left to find his way to a clean shirt and a training room. He didn’t really want to walk around smelling like Vanilla Latte all day. So by the time he stepped into a training room, you were already there. Sparring with Thor. 

The Asgardian looked like he could snap you in half and it was clear that, while he’d adjusted a little to keep from really hurting you, You were very much holding your own. Where he and Steve built muscle stacked on muscle, you were built small. Light and quick. Lithe. Like a whippet. He watched your feet, silent on the mats and contracted your fighting style with Thor’s. You made almost no sound. Nothing but an occasional discomfited sound when he lands a hit and some rough breathing he can only hear due to his hearing. In contrast to Thor’s constant grunts, growls, and grumbles. Not bad, he noted. At the very least, no one would probably have to keep watch over you so you didn’t die. That was a good thing. He hated having to ride herd on rookies. At least you were used to fighting.

Bucky joined Nat in her warm-up and the redhead smirked, “You up for this, old man?”

“We’ll find out I guess,” he huffed, blocking her first blow


	2. Chapter 2

B.C.

“Bucky?”

The uncharacteristically quiet voice makes him turn quickly. He hadn’t heard anyone approach and it startled him, “Jesus Christ, we need to put a fucking bell around your neck,” he snapped.

You wince at the harshness of his tone. “S-sorry. I- We- we’re the only ones here,” you stutter, “I- I-I-”

“Spit it out,” he rushed, glowering at you. 

Months had gone by and your crush had been on a slow simmer, he knew. He’d seen the brief longing glances and the way your cheeks burnt when his hand brushed yours. In another life, your little school girl crush would have set him to teasing you. Imploring you to sleep with him. Whispering compliments into your ear. But the man that wanted to do those kinds of things was gone. Long gone.

At his anger you seemed to shrink and it took a fraction of a second for you to grasp what you were about to say. “Do you want to get dinner?” He stops and stares at you for a second, “Like a date?” he scoffed.

“No,” you squeak, your cheeks darkening.

Bucky started towards you slowly, smirking, “Are you sure it isn’t a date kid?” He walked towards you until you’d backed towards the wall, too hesitant to prevent him from doing it. He rested his palms on the wall just above your shoulders, savoring the hammering of your heart against your ribs.

“N- I mean. Yes,” you murmur, looking resolutely at the space between your feet. He grinned slowly and tilted your chin up to make you look at him. Your eyes went wide and he brushed his thumb against your lips slowly, chuckling when you shiver, “Liar,” he hissed.

You shove his arm out of the way and you’re out of the room before he can manage to work up a laugh. But when he does, he can’t stop. It was too good. It had already been easy to see but after your patently transparent plan to make a move, he had enough concrete proof to do what he had to do.

It really was for your own good, he rationalized headed towards the elevator. You weren’t woman enough for him and if he let you play with fire, you were gonna get burned.

_________

A. C. (After Crush)

“Bucky,” Clint asked, “Did you see Y/N before she left?”

Bucky half shrugged, “I saw her with a bag. I figured she was suiting up to go somewhere for Fury. Ya know, like she does.”

Clint frowned but nodded, “You sure she didn’t say anything?”

“Not a word. She just kinda stared at me for a second and left.”

That part was true anyway. There’d been a look on your face he didn’t know how to decipher. For a fraction of a second he’d thought it was heartbreak but..., he supposed there wasn’t much left of your heart to break after he got through with it.

_____________

B.C.

After he cornered you in the laundry room you were careful to stay out from underfoot. It wasn’t the first time some sort of intimacy had been paired with the threat of violence. It left you with conflicting feelings. You’d wanted him to kiss you. You’d wanted him to be that close to you. But not growling at you like that. You’re really glad he hadn’t tried to keep you there. You’re not quite sure what you would have done if he hadn’t let you push past him and run. If he had decided to chase you up the hall when you bolted like a startled deer. 

“My lady!” Thor thundered, jolting you out of your reverie. Out of the memory of the shiver that had run down your spine and the smell of his aftershave. Something old fashioned. Musky and warm. It had washed over you and for a moment you couldn’t think. For a moment you were going to get the first kiss you wanted, even if it wasn’t what you had dreamed of. Even if it wasn’t a rose dusted daydream. Even if it wasn’t what you had spent hours playing and replaying in your head when you couldn’t sleep.

“Thor,” you say, turning to greet him with a smile, “Can I help you?”

Thor stops short, alerted that there was something in your room that was wrong. There was no music. Everything was tidy. “Y/N are you well?” he asked looking around, “Usually I can not see the floor for all the books scattered on it.” He grins at you to try to hide his unease and reaches towards you, making to press his hand to your forehead. 

You swat his hand away and give him a tired smile, “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to do some cleaning,” you explain. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he hummed, “A young woman can’t sleep in a tower full of attractive men? Could it be love?” You know he’s teasing you but your eyes burn and so do your cheeks. 

“No,” you murmur, your voice cracking despite the breath you took to try and stop it. Thor makes a soft distressed sound and kneels at your feet taking your hands.

“Darling girl,” He said, wiping away a tear with his thumb, “If a suitor has been behaving in an unworthy manner, tell me and I shall rend his head from his shoulders.”

It wasn’t what he intended, you knew, but you couldn’t choke the damp laugh that started. Something about his oddly formal manner and the big brother anxiety in his face was endearingly sweet. Thor’s face relaxed into a soft smile and he kisses the hands he’s holding. “What troubles you my darling?” he asks, “Your heart is not made to be troubled this way.”

“It’s nothing,” you say, dismissing the wriggling memory of a thumb against your lips and the threat of violence is cold blue eyes as he leaned in as if to kiss you. Or trying to before you could start crying in earnest. 

“You will not unburden yourself to me?” he asked, trying not to be hurt by that.

“Cannot,” you clarify quickly. Too quickly for Thor’s liking, but he’s lived long enough to know that if a lady means to protect her love, she will. By any means necessary. Especially a young lady without experience (her own or borrowed from an older woman) to fortify her own position. Thor knew that the harder he pressed the more you would lie. The more you’d feel compelled to light yourself on fire to keep whoever this man was, warm. 

“I see,” he rumbled, disapprovingly. He did not see. And he didn’t think that any man who would let you suffer sleepless nights and so many little broken hearts was worthy of you. Not his little Witchling with the clever hands and razor wits. Thor kissed your forehead and smiled a little, “I’ll keep your secret,” he said, “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“If this man lays a hand on you in any way you do not wish him to, you allow me to cut it off.” He put on his fiercest scowl and chucked you under the chin.

“I don’t thank that will be an issue, Thor,” you snort, “He’s not interested in me at all.”

“Then he’s mad,” Thor huffed, throwing up his hands, “What manner of man doesn’t look at my Witchling and burn?”

“The kind that likes boys?” Clint offered, leaning on your doorframe.

“There is that,” Thor conceded amicably, pecking your cheek, “But still, Barton, am I wrong? We’re fortunate to have this lovely creature to admire.”

“You’re taken, Thor,” you tell him, giggling, momentarily distracting him from Clint who’s suddenly interested in your shelf.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t ‘window shop’ and I heard you and Lady Natasha call it,” he said with a lazy smile.

“Y/N can I borrow this?” Clint said scooping up a book at random to have an excuse to run.

You cock your head, “Burial practices of Ancient Celts?”

“Hot date,” he blurted, “Goth chick... she’s into that.”

You nod, bemused but tickled, “Tell her Charles Dickens used to go to the morgue and stare at corpses for a few hours every now and again if the conversation slows down.”

“Neat,” he said, inspecting the book and giving you a thumbs up before half sprinting down the hall. Thor looked towards the doorway and quirked an eyebrow. Barton wasn’t the object of your affection at least. Because that man was clearly head over heels. Even if he hadn’t realized it yet... And that was a comfort. Thor would hate to have to take one of his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

A.C.

Natasha Romanoff sat at the counter sipping coffee and tried to think of where you might have gone. Unfortunately, you could be literally anywhere. She wanted to tell herself that she wasn’t disappointed, or worse, hurt that you didn’t say goodbye before you left. But then, you hated goodbyes. And it wasn’t personal. When you got the urge to go, sometimes you just needed to go. 

“What’s the matter, Eeyore, lost your tail?” Clint asked, helping himself to a mug of coffee and a pastry.

The spy huffed a laugh and sighed, “Just worried about Y/N, I guess. There are some pieces from the last few weeks that don’t set right.”

Clint nodded, “I know,” he said, “For a second, I thought she had a crush on someone, but… I don’t know.”

“A crush on someone?” Natasha asked, “And we never talked about it?”

Clint smiled a little, “It might have been a little wishful thinking,” he admitted. The redhead smiled a little, “Clint,” she started. But he held up a hand.

“I knew it was a long shot. I mean. By the time I realized I had liked her, she was already gearing up to run off for a while.”

“How long have you liked her?”

“Pretty much from the minute she handed me a plate of pizza and introduced herself… but I figured she was out of my league.” He sipped his coffee, and the redhead rested her head on his shoulder.

“She’ll be back,” Natasha said, bracingly.

“I know,” Clint said, “And I’m not gonna lie. I hope she comes back soon.”

___________________

B.C.

“Do I have to go to this thing?” You grouse, tugging the skirt of your dress down. 

“It’s just a press event, Y/N,” Steve said, straightening his cuff, “And you’re an Avenger. The whole team is going.”

“Yeah, but no one knows who I am, so like… If I don’t go will anyone notic-” you trail off as Clint walks through the door in jeans and a hoodie, “Oh come on,” you groan, “How come Clint gets to wear jeans and I have to wear a dress?”

“You have nicer legs,” Nat said, linking her arm through yours and half dragging you to a car.

“I want my objections noted,” you huff.

“Noted and ignored,” Tony said, sliding into the limo across from you, smirking when you pout. “Y/N,” he said, “It’ll be fine. Just don’t hex anyone and don’t wander too far down a rabbit hole when you answer questions.”

“And then, when someone tries to kidnap me and burn me at the stake after my face has been all over the news?”

“Kill them,” Natasha said practically.

“Is that still a going concern?” Tony asked, “Should we tell security to turn away and monks with pitchforks?”

You shrug. Trying not to think of the last guy you’d tried to date. The one that had grabbed you by the hair and half dragged half threw you onto a pile of kindling. It had been horrifying. You’d been really in love. Really. Really in love. And he’d just wanted you dead.

When you look out the window to avoid looking at either of them, Tony and Nat trade looks. 

They know you. And they know when you’re hiding something. Everyone does. Natasha is fond of saying that you’re a great Witch, but you’d make a lousy spy. Feelings aren’t something you can easily conceal. Not usually. 

“Y/N,” Tony started carefully.

“I’m not talking about it,” you say, not looking away from the window. You’d met him at a press event. He’d given you a drink of water and hadn’t treated you like part of the three-ring circus. 

Natasha kissed your cheek, “I wasn’t going to ask.”

“I was,” Tony interrupted, “What the fuck?”

“It’s a long story. Suffice to say, I’m still alive despite the bumbling efforts of a would-be witch hunter.”

“Those are still a thing?” Tony shouted, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You shrug, “What good would it have done?”

Tony scowled at you, and you could see him gearing up for interrogation and a dad lecture. Six years and he still struggled with your perpetual babyface. Everyone did. You looked young, and thus, they tended to treat you as the team baby, Thankfully, the limo stopped, and the doors opened. Tony stepped out and then Natasha, leaving you a second to breathe and get ready for the onslaught. Only the really obsessive fans knew who you were. Only the most religious media outlets even paid you any mind. The WITCH, the godless, immoral, child-snatching witch. Still, you smiled vaguely and nodded, in the back of your mind wandering your Mother’s garden. The smell of herbs and the sound of cicadas making the world foggy around the edges. Blunting the chaos.

No one at the luncheon was interested in you, thankfully. It made it easier for you to slip away. To hide. You’d snatched a glass of champagne and found a little shaded bench to sit on. Somewhere tucked by a potted plant and a column. It made you hard to spot. For most people. 

Not Bucky, though. Bucky had been watching you. You looked uncomfortable in your tight little dress and heels. Eyes and lips painted. Hair pulled into a tight, uncomfortable-looking bun in an attempt to stop the talking heads from insisting you were too young to be an Avenger. Again. Bucky saw you, tucking yourself away. Hiding. And he got an idea. A brilliant idea. There was a woman. Some model or other that had been shooting him looks all afternoon. And she. Amber or whatever. She was a dream. Built and stacked in such a way that she was everything he’d dreamed of when he first put on his dress uniform. The kind of dame he could happily spend a couple breathless hours with… As long as she didn’t try to talk too much. He didn’t really know what was so important about “followers” or why it mattered that her handbag cost $1000, but… he figured he could keep her busy. Or at least keep her mouth full if they went out.

It didn’t take much to talk her out to the balcony. Out where you could hear the things he had to say. Where he could show you the type of woman, he was really interested in. He boxed you in. You couldn’t go without giving away your position. You couldn’t do anything but sit and listen to him romancing another girl. Watch him act out some of your pretty little daydreams with someone else. Those pretty little pastel thoughts he knew that some kind of girls held in their chest. All those secret hopes. As his lips trailed over Amber’s throat, the scruff of his beard making her giggle (a chattering sound that reminded him of some weird species of lemur), he idly wondered if you’d named the kids you probably wanted to have with him. He scoffed to himself. You probably still thought a white picket fence was possible. With anyone. 

He could hear the hurt as he propositioned the woman to drop by later for a “tour” of the compound. He could practically hear your heart crack as your heart rate sped up, and you struggled to breathe as you choked back tears. He felt, for a second, as Amber sashayed back inside, a niggling, sense of wrongdoing. But he squished it down with the heel of his boot as he ground out the cigarette Amber had carelessly discarded. 

He wandered back inside and ignored the sound of a soft whimper and the rustle of fabric as you scrambled to look through your bag for a tissue. His plan was going well. 

That was good.

It would be a pity if you had some weird kink that he’d just fed into. Things might have to get drastic then.

________________

A. C.

You wandered out to the porch and sipped from the mug in your hand. It was a homebrew tea. A blend from the garden and… it was sad. Yours never tasted as good as your mom’s. At least. The way they tasted before. Before your stepdad had swooped in and infected her with his specific brand of Zealot Rage. Until you’d been tossed out to keep you from contaminating the “Normal” kids. 

The little siblings that had been told you died.

When that thought made your eyes burn, you pushed it aside and shoved it into the dark recesses of your mind where you shoved everything you didn’t want to think about. Your family. Bucky… especially Bucky. 

Fuck him. 

All he’d had to do was tell you that he was interested. But no. Oh no. He’d toyed with you. Like an Orca with a fucking baby seal. The bastard. 

“Fuck!” you drop the mug you’re holding and jump back from the puddle of broken ceramics and scalding tea. You stare at the pool spreading across the weathered wood and sigh. “Fuck,” you say, quieter this time. You really are the reason you can’t have nice things.


	4. Chapter 4

B.C.

Bucky had overheard Thor. The big blonde asking what had happened when he noticed your red eyes and mussed makeup. You’d said it was nothing, but it was clear that he didn’t believe you. Stupid kid, Bucky, scoffed to himself. 

He kept a wide berth of Thor, though, knowing you were going to have a very visceral reaction to being close to Bucky and knowing Thor wasn’t as dumb as people tended to think he was. He watched as Thor tucked you against his side and coaxed you into the car with him, out of the public eye. Thor, probably better than most of the others, understood how alien these press events felt for you. How alienating. 

Supersoldiers, spies, billionaires, heroes… there were movies about them. They permeated popular culture so thoroughly that they seemed relatable. Witches though? Witches in this culture were scary. Alien. Often cultural shorthand for evil. Thor knew better. He knew that you, that your kind of witch was indicative of a pure heart. And he knew that these types of events made you feel exposed. 

“My Lady,” Thor said gently, “Please. You are not alright.”

“I’m just stupid, Thor. It’s fine… I just. I’d like to go home and go to sleep, I think. It’s been a long week.” you tell him, carefully taking off the rest of your make up.

Thor frowned, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to speak to someone?”

“Thor, I told you. He isn’t interested… Really he hardly even knows I exist.”

Thor scowled, “He knows enough to know how to hurt you clearly.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” you sigh, “He’s not a monster; he’s just…”

Thor smiles a little, “He’s a man.”

You nod, “I can’t… no one could be that malicious, right?” Thor looks down at your face. Big eyes, reddened and tears pooling again even now as you try to tell him it’s okay. 

“No one,” he reassured, brushing a soft kiss against your hair. But in his heart, he knew that wasn’t true. Some men. Some kinds of especially broken men take a heart that’s proffered to them and break it. Crush it in their hands the way he’d seen you crumple thick black earth when you’re tracking something.

Thor stays quiet after that. He leaves you to your thoughts and is careful not to press too hard. Back at the compound, he stays near you as you walk through the doors. And so he doesn’t miss when you flinch away from Bucky when you nearly brush against him. Thor watches you scurry towards an elevator to your room, keeping your head down, a pair of heels in your hand, and he frowns. “Hmm,” he rumbles. That filled in another piece for him. 

“What’s up?” Steve asked, looking between you, still obviously upset and Thor. Thor frowned, “I am not sure. The lady has elected to keep her own counsel.”

“Is she pregnant?” Sam blurted out.

“That’s unlikely,” Thor snorted.

“Is it boy trouble, though?” Clint asked, falling into step with them all.

“I promised the lady that what she told me would be in confidence,” Thor said firmly. 

“So, yes, but you can’t tell us that,” Clint snorted.

Thor’s eyes narrowed, and Clint held up his hand, “I’m not gonna ask her, I just wanted to know if I should be kneecapping someone.”

“Or making a move,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

Clint flushed and rubbed the back of his neck, “That obvious, huh?”

“Boy,” Sam said, smacking the back of his head, “The only person that HASN’T figured it out is Y/N, and that’s because she’s mostly oblivious to anything that isn’t a rectangle with pages.”

The archer rubbed the back of his head and sighed, “Still, she’s not interested in me. At least not like that.”

“Not yet,” Steve said, shrugging, “I mean. It’s not like you really tried anything.”

“If she’s got boy trouble, it’s with someone else,” Clint reminded.

“You could turn her head… with a hair cut. And a personality transplant,” Sam said.

“Hey, fuck you, I’m charming!” he protested.

“About as charming as roadkill,” Bucky said walking by to the training room

“Fuck you too!”

“Not my type.”

Thor rolled his eyes, and Steve chuckled, “Boys, you’re both pretty.”

“Am I not pretty, Captain?” Thor asked, smirking. His booming laugh echoing off the marble foyer when Steve threw up his hands in exasperation.

___________

You sat at the vanity in your room and surveyed the makeup and brushes you had laid out. Then, you looked at your own face. 

Shaggy hair that needed to be professionally cut instead of it just being you lopping the ends off with a pair of scissors when it got unbearably shaggy. Eyes, lips, nose, cheeks, forehead… all of it was nothing to write home about. Not like the girl Bucky had been whispering to on the balcony. Each whispered word, and lingering kiss had felt like a pin shoved into your heart with devastating accuracy. Hitting every insecurity. 

The stupid thing was, you knew spells and cantrips and potions that could make you as beautiful as that woman. More beautiful even. You could make yourself so earth-shatteringly lovely that men would fight and die just to walk you across the street, but…it would only be an illusion. Like it was for that woman. A dream of a fierce fucking contour and some really beautifully applied eye make up. Anyone could learn to do that part. She’d learned, between Natasha and youtube. Something was soothing about the process of putting the various goop on your face to create the look you wanted to wear. And you were halfway through sculpting your own contour when Natasha burst through your door.

“Oh good, you’re getting ready,” she said, lounging on your bed. 

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Out,” she said, “Girls night out.”

You nod, accepting this, “Not a club, right?”

“No,” she scoffs, “Wine and canvas.”

“Gods bless Pepper,” you laugh, “Did she book the whole building again?”

“Tony insisted,” Nat said stretching.

“Tony?”

“We’re supposed to be interrogating you about your current boy problems.”

You’re heart stutters, and your hand pauses, halfway through putting eyeliner to your eyes, “Boy trouble?” you say out loud while internally cursing Thor. 

“The boys are convinced you’ve got a crush or something…”

You roll your eyes, “As if I’d tell them before I told you.”

“That’s what I said,” she answered. If you were struggling with some unrequited love, you hid it reasonably well. Natasha hadn’t known about it and still couldn’t get a fix on who the object of your affection might be. Maybe you were getting over it on your own. It’s not like you didn’t have a support network to lean on. Perhaps Thor had been more helpful than he had thought.

_____________

A. C.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve had this specific house. But that’s all it is. A house. It’s lightly furnished. A few dishes, enough furniture to make it comfortable. It’s better than it was. For a couple years, you only had lawn chairs and a mattress on the floor. A few books and some plastic dishes. 

It was a place to go to. You had to drive for almost an hour to get anywhere with a movie theater, and there were woods for miles. It was fine. You felt almost safe. Almost okay. There was no one to come towards you with menace in his face. There was no one to prey on the anxieties in your mind.

At least. At least until a beat-up blue pick up rolled down your driveway. You took mental stock of where your staff was in the house and marshaled a little energy to bear, firming up shields and willing yourself not to look surprised… Until you recognize the man that gets out of the car.

“Clint?” you say, tilting your head, releasing the energy you’re holding, “What are you doing here?”

He lopes towards you with a sheepish smile and stops at the steps, “I- I came to find you.”

“Why?” you ask, “Did something happen?”

“I missed you,” he said, cheeks coloring, “Movie night is no fun without someone that understands how to riff on shit.”

“I don’t have a T.V.,” you tell him, rubbing the back of your neck.

“We don’t- I mean. We can just talk.”

“You drove all the way out here to talk?” you ask, taking a hesitant step down to him.

“I mean- I- We don’t have to talk… I could just take you for ice cream. And tell you you’re pretty.” He gives you a little crooked smile and holds out his hand.

“I- I dunno if that’s a good idea, Clint.”

“Since when does that matter?” he teases gently, “I don’t wanna stick my tongue down your throat. I just miss my friend.”

“It’s a 30-minute drive to a dairy queen,” you tell him, taking the hand he’s holding out.

“So… 30-minute concert with yours truly as the featured Artist,” he laughed, “Good thing I put new batteries in my hearing aids.”

You giggle and for the first time since he found out you’d left, Clint feels like himself. And it feels good as he helps you up into the passenger seat.


	5. Chapter 5

A.C.

“Clint, where are you going?” Steve asked, looking up from tinkering with his bike. The Archer tossed a bag into the trunk and slammed the lid, clearing his throat.

“I’m gonna go see Y/N,” he said.

Steve frowned, “I thought you and Natasha had a policy of not looking for her.”

“We do,” he answered, “but… Something doesn’t feel right about how she left. The last few weeks were… off. She was avoiding everyone if she could. Usually, when it gets bad, she’s practically climbing on someone’s lap, trying to be okay.”

Steve nodded. He’d seen that. Hell. It had been him a couple times when you were treading water. But he’d put you there just to keep you from running off after you’d spent all day in the snow setting wards around the compound. Some awful nightmare jolting you into action. “Do you think she’s in danger?” he asked earnestly about to go suit up.

“Not. I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. I just know it isn’t right, and I don’t think she’ll come back this time.” 

“What makes you say that?”

Clint shrugged, “She hates saying goodbye to people… goodbyes are permanent. Usually, when she leaves, she just quietly tells people she’ll see them later.”

Steve made a soft, thoughtful sound, “Good luck,”

“She’ll come home or she won’t,” he said, shrugging again, getting into the car that was gonna take him to his flight.

Stever watched him go thoughtfully and turned to look at Bucky. The Brunette looked quietly furious. A muscle ticking dangerously in his jaw. He’d been… not himself for a couple weeks. At least not the self he was now. More brooding, even than he had been before, and Steve hadn’t thought that was possible.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, picking up a wrench.

“Nothing,” Bucky half growled.

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

“What the fuck did SHIELD want with a witch anyway?” Bucky asked abruptly.

“I asked Peggy that,” Steve answered, “Not long after I first met Y/N. Peggy said that she thought SHIELD wanted her for her upbringing. A witch from a really conservative Christian household would probably be 1.) already powerful, especially if she developed powers in those conditions, and 2.) would know what it felt like to be absolutely nothing to someone.”

“What’s Peggy got to do with it?”

“Peggy did her initial interviews,” Steve said, “SHIELD basically snatched her up off the street. And they figured a nice elderly British lady would be a lot less scary for a terrified 15 yeard old than Fury.”

Bucky couldn’t picture you at 15. All he could see was you now. Though, if what he’d heard about your aging was correct, you probably looked the same way now that you did in your late teens. That on its own was irritating. HYDRA/SHIELD had been gentle with you. Careful. Treated you like a baby. A little breakable creature. They’d have never dreamed of electrocuting and freezing you. Making you into a weapon. Bucky nodded at the things Steve said but didn’t say a word. He’d give himself away if he did. Because right now, if you were standing in front of him, he’d probably choke the life out of you. And you’d deserve it. 

_________________________

B.C.

Bucky was disappointed when he realized you weren’t in the tower when Amber showed up. His plan was simple. Fuck this other girl’s brains out and make sure you saw him do it. Rinse and repeat until you didn’t have any feelings left for him… at least until he got bored and wanted you to have them. He’d warmed to the idea of having a toy. Someone he could play with when he got too bored. 

And you fit the bill. A little fragile. Vulnerable. Insecurities out the ass. Lots of tiny small pressure points he could exploit. Because, surprise, whoever the fuck had raised, you hadn’t known what they were doing.

The Former Assassin was even more surprised when you came in, carrying a very Drunk Natasha over your shoulder and carefully handed her to Steve with a smile. “Successful girls night?” he chuckled.

“If by successful you mean that I got them all so fucked up, they forgot they were supposed to be snooping, then… yes,” you tell him. Happy, carrying Pepper snorted and handed her to Tony. 

“Some spy you are, Romanoff,” Steve chuckled, shifting her weight.

“Not my fault,” Natasha protested, “Pretty sure she just put a spell on everything.”

“Uh-huh. Likely story,” he hefted Nat easily over his shoulder and headed the direction of their room vaguely, still chuckling. 

Bruce and Thor traded looks and shook their heads, snuggling back in to watch their movie on the sofa. They both knew. Thor knew because you had told him, kinda, and Bruce knew because Thor had had to tell someone when he felt like he might have betrayed your trust. 

“What a mess,” Bruce said softly.

“Indeed,” Thor rumbled, “My poor little Witchling.”

Bruce smiled a little, “You really do have a soft spot for her, don’t you.”

“I have a soft spot for anyone that goes head to head with Loki and lives,” Thor said, smudging a lazy kiss against Bruce’s hair. “She was just a girl,” he rumbled, “But when Loki tried to take her, she managed to bloody his nose… And that’s no small feat. Loki had had centuries to hone his craft. She’d barely had 3 years. One day she’ll be unstoppable.”

“But for now, some idiot is playing with fire,” Bruce sighed.

“And he’s going to get burnt,” Thor agreed.

_____________

A.C.

You’d rolled the window of the truck down, and your hair was floating on the breeze. Clint liked this a lot. A pretty girl in the jump seat and her fingers laced through his when he didn’t have to shift. 

It felt good. You felt good. Even on your worst days. The days that had you quietly hiding in your bed trying to avoid them all, just knowing you were around, felt good. Even if the bad days made him daydream about charging up to your room with flowers and a new book. He wondered if you liked to be read to. He’d like to read to you. Have your head on his chest while you giggled at the way he had to struggle to wrap his mouth around big words. He didn’t think he’d mind if you laughed at him for it. Not while you were looking up at him with those big doe eyes. He’d never done that, of course. Too scared of being rejected. Or worse, ignored. The way you sometimes did when you were struggling, especially hard. The way you did when Steve or Tony tried to demand you come down and eat dinner. 

But right now, the radio is playing. Classic Rock. The only station that plays this far out. And you’re singing along with him, albeit softly. 

Clint wants to pull you into the middle seat where he can reach you better. He intends to nibble along your neck and your collar bones until you’re breathless and dizzy. That thought makes his mouth go dry, and he swallows hard. You’re so pretty, the late afternoon sun shining in your hair and bringing out new colors in your eyes. So beautiful. So out of his league. But as he pulls into the Dairy Queen parking lot, Clint doesn’t care. 

He wasn’t kidding when he told you he missed his friend. That he wanted to know you were okay. That’s he’d leave if you said so. But right now, everything is perfect. Sitting under an umbrella’ed table, the vanilla soft serve tastes like it’s own kind of magic on a hot day. And for once, Clint is happy to have you to himself. 

“Clint?” you say softly when he comes back from throwing trash away.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He offers you a hand to help you up and gives you a crooked smile when you take it, “Don’t thank me yet,” he said, “I haven’t kept the other half of my promise.”

You cock your head curiously, and he kisses the hand you give him, “I promised to tell you you were pretty, too.”

Unbidden, images of statuesque women flood your brain, and you look away, “You really don’t have to lie. It’s okay.”

Clint cups your chin gently, smoothing his thumb along your jaw, “Y/N,” he whispered, “What happened to make you leave, this time?”

“It’s a long story,” you answer, not meeting his eyes.

“You only say that when you think no one wants to listen,” he scolds gently.

“And it works, doesn’t it?

“Baby girl,” he says softly, “We got nothing but time.”


	6. Chapter 6

B.C.

Natasha groaned and rested her head on the table slowly, “Y/N, as soon as I can move without my head pounding, I’m going to kill you.”

“Duly noted,” you say, handing her a bottle of water and a cup of coffee with a little hair of the dog in it. “Cheap wine hangover is the worst.”

“How did you get out without getting drunk?” Clint asks you, amused.

You shrug, “A little sleight of hand and some redirection... Drunk me really shouldn’t be let out in public.”

Bruce reached around you for creamer and laughed, “Definitely not. Last time Drunk you was out, you and Hulk would up reenacting scenes from King Kong.”

“King Kong?” Thor asked, confused.

“A movie about aa huge monkey that falls in love with a gorgeous actress,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes and tugging the end of your braid, “It was almost a PR disaster.”

“Only almost!” you defend with a squeak when Thor smashes you against Bruce’s side when he leans over your head to kiss his boyfriend, good morning.

“That is the cutest three-way I have ever seen,” Clint snorted as Thor and Bruce took advantage of your small stature and kept you in their little group hug, both of them kissing either of your cheeks affectionately. 

“It’s not the cutest one I have ever been a part of,” Thor quipped, letting you go so you could reach your coffee. 

“Thor!” Bruce scolded.

“What? I just said it wasn’t the cutest... not that it didn’t have the cutest participants,” He looks down to wink at you only to find you now resolutely focused on cleaning the dishes in the sink. Across the way, Bucky was telling his evening’s companion good-bye. The woman was clearly well-loved. Disheveled and wearing last night's dress, albeit worse for wear after a night on the floor.

The kind of woman, Thor assumed, that was your exact opposite. And suddenly. Terribly. Several tumblers clicked into place. Your heart had audibly stuttered for just a second. And now that he was walking towards you, it was racing. He glanced down at you, the tension in your shoulders. Then glanced around. No one else really seemed to notice it was amiss. Thor was willing to bet that he had only seen, and even then only because he could feel the shift in your energy. 

When Bucky comes to lean on the counter, you slip away quietly, taking advantage of Clint’s curiosity about Bucky’s companion and Natasha’s renewed complaining about her hangover to escape to your room. Bruce looked up at Thor, sensing the sudden shift in his mood, and Thor kissed him softly, trying to reassure him but didn’t have time to say anything before Steve strode into the kitchen. 

“Suit up,” he said gravely, “We got work to do.”

“Who do you need?” Bruce asked.

“Y/N, Barton, Bucky, Thor, and Nat,” he said, “Apparently, some demons are teaming up with a terrorist cell.”

“What the fuck is Y/N gonna do about it? Read at them?” Bucky snorted.

Nat gave Bucky a look, “Don’t mistake composure and kindness for powerlessness,” she cautioned.

“Then why are they sending her with such a big team?’ he countered

“Magic takes time,” Clint snorted, “Someone has to keep goons off her back.”

“Indeed,” Thor rumbled, making a mental note to keep Bucky away from you.

________

The plane ride to the site is quiet. Everyone, even Clint, is quiet. Bucky is grateful, even if the crackling energy around you makes his skin crawl and itch. No one else seems bothered by it. Or maybe, he figures, they’re used to it. But, Sam, who wheedled his way into this particular mission, doesn’t seem bothered either. 

When they land, a way out, Steve looks down at you, “What are we up against?”

You pause, kneeling and pressing your palms into the dirt, “Demons. A couple vampires... at least. That’s what’s on the ground right now. Don’t try anything tricky. Headshots first ask questions later. If it doesn’t go down, run. If it chases you, find Thor. Or me. We’re gonna be the prime targets. To demons, the rest of you are like designer purses. Nice to have but ultimately disposable.”

“You heard the lady,” Steve said, tightening his grip on his shield. “Let’s move.”

Bucky eyes your choice of weapons and scoffs. A pretty stick and a sword. So. Useless. All you were probably going to do was put someone’s eye out. But he stays quiet. Thor had practically growled at him earlier when he went to sit next to you... Now he couldn’t get the idea if the most awkward orgy in history out of his head. Did Banner even know what boobs were for?

Bucky, though, doesn’t have long to ponder that thought before the fighting starts. And it doesn’t take long for him and Sam to realize EXACTLY how unnerving it was to watch a witch at work. 

Black blood spattered the grass at your feet as droves of demons headed towards you. Heads rolled, and your eyes glowed an unearthly silver in the purple haze of Twilight. 

“Oh fuck me,” he hears over comms. 

“They have a goddamn hell hound.”

“Y/N down!” Barton yells, and Bucky glances over just in time to see you drop to the ground as Clint fires an arrow into a Vampire’s eye. Just moments later, a... creature, glowing like radioactive waste and more mountain that hound roars, shaking the earth under his feet.

“Barton, Sam... Someone high up. I need a chain. Something strong...” you bark into comms.

“100 yards straight down, but you’re gonna have to fight for it. And get around the dog,” Clint said uncertainly.

“Thor,” You ask politely, “Help Steve cut me a path?”

Thor’s booming laugh can be heard even without the commlink and Steve pants, “Fuck, that is a huge dog.”

“And it’s only gonna get bigger the longer it’s topside,” you say, starting to sprint forward. 

“Bigger,” Sam yelps.

“Sam, cover Y/N. Bucky, Cover Sam. Nat, computers,“ Steve pants.

There is no time for argument as you streak forward, sword in hand as you snatch up the chain and jerk a knot in it. A heavy knot. “I really hope this works,” you pant.

Clint makes a horrified sound as you whip the Chain forward, and the hell hound bites down, whipping you into the air. “Y/N!” he half screams. In his head, he can see a million ways the angles could go wrong. A million ways you could die. And there’s nothing he can do. But watch this massive... Thing whips you around like a rag doll.

You drive your sword into its neck and hang on. “Thor, hit me!” you grit out through your teeth. 

“You’ll die!” He yells back.

“We all will if I can’t put this thing down. Trust me,” you say, your voice is calm, despite the tension in your voice. 

Thor take an audible deep breath and forces Lightening down on the creature. It hits in all its awesome power and the sound that the thing makes in like a chainsaw being thrown into a woodchipper. Inconceivable in it’s sheer... un- processable sound. 

And then, as it melts into black blood and rivers of flame, there is silence. There is nothing. Nothing but your labored breathing over calms and the ringing in all their ears.

__________

You know nothing. Nothing after the lightening. You don’t know that it’s Clint who carried you off the field. That medical practically had to pry you out of his arms. 

You don’t know that Thor couldn’t look. He felt like he’d practically killed you. That looking at your little body, unconscious and broken in a pool of ink-black blood, your own blood floating on top, was going to be seared into his brain for the rest of his very long life. 

You don’t see Natasha, Steve, and Sam huddled together trying to figure out the best way to get you home. If you'll even make it home.

And you don’t know that Bucky feels nothing. Not for you. Just a vague discomfort. Demons were gross. 

____________

A.C.

The sun was dipping below the horizon and Clint couldn’t look at you. You’d told him everything. It was like once you had started that you couldn’t stop. It had gushed out like blood from a wound. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he ground out. 

“I-” you start, flinching away from the anger you feel radiating off of him.

“Or Nat. Or I mean Fuck Steve?” he said jumping off the hood of the truck to pace. 

“I didn’t think it mattered,” you murmur, looking away. So far, you were proud of yourself, you’d managed not to cry. But now? You could feel your throat burning and you just... you needed to move. 

“Didn’t-” he stopped and stared at you in disbelief. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you didn’t fucking matter?” He laughed and jerked your chin up. 

“Y/N,” he said softly, “Baby. Tell me who made you think that. Please. I need to find them and introduce their kneecaps to a tire iron.”

You pull your chin out of his hand and bite your lip, “I just... I didn’t want people to take sides.”

Clint sighs, “Baby. There are no sides here,” he said, pulling you against his chest and resting his cheek on your hair. “He hurt you,” Clint said, “And no one is gonna be okay with that.”


	7. Chapter 7

B.C.

“Y/N I swear. If you ever do anything that blatantly stupid ever again,” Steve threatened as you sipped a cup of water.

“Yes, dad,” you sigh rolling your eyes.

Steve glared at you as Natasha muttered angry Russian expletives and you smile a little, “Look, I knew that it was incredibly unlikely I was going to die. It was just going to hurt. A lot. Still hurts actually.”

Natasha scowled as she tucked the blankets around you, “It was still stupid.”

“Oh,” you snort, wincing, “There’s no doubt about that. But It was effective and I had to act fast... That hell-hound had only been topside about 12 hours. And I almost couldn’t stop it... If I’d waited we would have been fucked. And it takes centuries for demons to marshal enough energy to build one up here... So. I’ll take the win.”

Thor was quiet, arms folded where he leaned on the wall. He was glad you were safe. That you were going to make a full recovery. But the image of you in a pool of black blood, bloodied and twitching still made his chest ache. “How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?” he asked softly. 

“Your less well-documented powers don’t exist in a vacuum, Thor,” you answer, “Terrified Christian monks who wrote down stories had to hear them from somewhere... I needed consecrated ground. Quickly. And to do that I needed to be able to conduct the energy and... I needed to be holding on to direct it where I needed it to go.” Thor moved closer to the bed and pats your cheek, “We thought we lost you for a second, witchling.”

“Nah,” you say, giving him a brave smile. It still felt like you might be dying. It certainly hurt that much. “I’m like a bad habit.”

“Thor isn’t Christian,” Steve said abruptly. 

You shrug, “The Christians don’t hold a monopoly on Holy... The definition is fairly flexible. Thor still has followers, thus where he works a miracle... and this fucking counts because I didn’t know if this was gonna work, there is holy ground.”

Steve frowned but nodded, taking a second to kiss the side of your head, “Still. If you ever do something that stupid ever again I’m gonna make Bucky do your training rounds with you.”

Thor chanced to glance at you and your face betrayed nothing. Only the same mild amusement it had a moment ago. And as for year heartbeat... well. It was still irregular and too fast. Your body on high alert after your Jolt. But a muscle in your throat pulsed just slightly. Just enough to tell him your prey instincts had kicked in, and if you could have done it, you’d be ready to bolt.

The Three of them left shortly after to give you some time to rest and Clint slipped in quietly. 

“Hey, Cupcake,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. Now that your eyes were open and you were sitting up he felt like it was okay. Before “okay” was a horribly abstract concept. 

“Hey, Hawk,” you say, smiling a little. “You okay?” Clint takes a second to look at you. Big luminous eyes and tangled chaotic hair. You look frail and pale... Nat had told him like a sick Victorian Child who wouldn’t make it to Spring. But fuck if you aren’t the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

“Now that I’m seeing you alive?” he said giving you a crooked smile and tucking himself sitting next to you, “I’m great. This might be the best day of my life... I thought you were a goner, babe.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, “There’ll be better days, Clint,” you tell him fondly. 

“Yeah,” he said, “The day they let you out of medical and you meet my dog.”

“YOU GOT A DOG?” you yelp, “Gimme, lemme see the puppy.” You make a sort of vague grabby hands gesture.

“He’s not a puppy. He’s a grumpy mutt I pulled out of an Alley... who then proceeded to steal my pizza and get shot.” he said, “And they told me he can’t be in here.”

“But witches need to commune with nature,” you pout, “And that,” you say pointing at the sad little potted plant in your window sill, “Is NOT nature. It’s plastic!”

Clint chuckles and rests his cheek on your head, “If I get in trouble I’m blaming you.”

“Don’t you usually?” you ask.

“Touche,” Clint conceded getting off the bed. He knew from the jump he couldn’t tell you no. He’d already told Lucky all about you. And as he padded his way into the room and made his way up to the bed, Clint had no regrets. 

Lucky wiggled his way into your arms and accepted all the kisses and cuddles and effusive compliments about what a pretty boy he was. And Clint watched, smiling a little. You glowed. Warmth and light. Compassion. You took in everyone’s flaws and loved them anyway. The way you didn’t think you deserved. And Clint knew. He knew. That he’d never be able to tell you “no” ever again. He also, when he had to half drag Lucky off your bed, was vaguely aware that his dog probably loved you more than him. And Clint had to admit that that was fair. You were definitely nicer to look at. 

____________________

A.C.

“Where’s Lucky,” you ask in the quiet on your porch.

“With Nat,” Clint answers smiling a little, “Plane rides freak him out.”

Clint watched the sun sink lower, burning up the atmosphere and turning the sky a flamingo pink. Stars were starting to sparkle on the horizon and the air was getting cooler. Crickets were singing and birds were calling out. It felt nice. Rocking you on the porch swing in the quiet. 

“So,” he asked teasing, “If you don’t have T.V. what do you do out here?”

“This,” you answer, gesturing vaguely. “There’s a pond out back for swimming and my closest neighbor is four miles away... I just. I mean I’m not a total animal. I do have Wifi. But sometimes I just... I can’t take being trapped in anymore.”

Clint makes a soft sound and pulls you closer, “So you wanted freedom.”

“And some time. Time to figure out my next move.”

“Are you coming back?” he asked, his voice so soft that you can hardly hear him.

“I don’t- I’m not- I shouldn’t.” you settle on finally, “We just got the team back in working order... and this. This is the only family I have. I really don’t want to be the one responsible for tearing it apart.”

Clint stops and looks down at you, tilting your chin up carefully, “Babe,” he murmurs, “You did nothing wrong. Not one thing. Barnes did all of this. You were quietly nursing a harmless little crush. And he exploited it. Exploited you.” When you look away, uncertain he sighs, “Look. If it were Nat what would you tell her?”

“Nat would have already killed him,” you point out.

Clint makes a soft exasperated sound, “Fine. Any other woman. Would this be their fault?”

“No but-” you trail off and Clint stops, stroking his thumb against your jaw.

“But what?” he presses.

“They aren’t me,” you say exhaling slowly. 

“What does that mean, baby girl,” he asks.

“I mean I could have influenced him. I could have cast a charm unintentionally and he could have reacted poorly and-”

Clint tries. He wants to hear how you’ve twisted this around in your head to make it all your fault. He wants to know so he can tear it apart. But he can’t. He can’t listen to you justify that level of manipulation. So he kisses you. It’s a soft kiss. The gentlest way he knows to stop you talking. To distract whatever anxious death spiral you’re about to go down to tell yourself that you did this and you deserve it all. 

It’s over before it really starts and Clint is pulling away about to apologize when you sit there blinking at him in shock. “Stop,” he says instead of apologizing. “I know you. You never do anything like that unintentionally. Hell. You never do anything unintentionally. You agonize about people’s feelings for hours before you send a risky text sometimes... Even if you did cast some spell on him, baby it’s the same one you cast on everyone. Just by being you. And being you doesn’t mean that that grumpy fuck gets to abuse you.”

When you start to cry, Clint pulls you into his lap wordlessly and just rocks you. “No one,” he murmurs, “deserves what people have done to you, babe. Not one person.” He doesn’t try to stop it. He just lets you sob, even though every racked stuttering breath makes his chest hurt. He’s seen you a mess before, but not like this. Not this shattered and jagged. This tortured. 

And for once, he doesn’t think a stupid joke and a cupcake is going to make it better. For once, he’s going to have to ride out the storm.

____________

B.C.

Girls' night in the compound meant a lot of things. Mostly, it meant that Tony was working Pepper’s last nerve and had enlisted every last woman she could find to throw a night out on his dime because he’d irritated her. 

But it also meant, of course, that the men in the compound had unexpected free time. Which was both a blessing and a curse as they all sat in the commons trying to decide what movies to watch and what pizza toppings to order. 

They were mid-argument when you came downstairs kitted out for the night. Complete with a corset, black leather skirt, fishnets, and combat boots. You look feral and sexy. Sleek. All smoke and sultry. And that skirt is riding temptingly high on your thigh. For just a half a second, Bucky can’t not stare. 

Until he realizes who you are. 

“You look-” Steve stops. Not sure what to say, looking flustered. You never show that amount of skin if you can help it. 

“Otherworldly and vaguely threatening?” Bruce supplies, as Thor nods in agreement. 

Sam whistles, “Damn,” he says, “Girl where’d you hide that outfit?”

Clint, standing next to Thor makes a sound that reminds the god irresistibly of a mouse being stepped on. The god is pretty sure the Archer stopped breathing when you stepped off the elevator.

“Nice “Come fuck me boots,” Tony observed drily.

“They were on sale,” you say, tossing a wild mane of curls over your shoulder.

When you drift out, Clint falls forward, face planting into the sofa, “Please. Please tell me that was real.”

“Oh yeah,” Sam chuckled, “That was real.”

“Fuck me.” he groaned, “That’s just rude.”

“Or not,” Bucky muttered, picking up his phone.

___________

When you hadn’t so much as looked at him, Bucky was irritated. Who the fuck were you to not pay attention to him. Well. He had a way to fix you. He had a way to remind you that he could destroy you. And he wanted to. 

How dare you act like he didn’t matter to you when he knew it wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t from the quiet way you still just... did things. The way he could hear your heart race in a quiet room. The way your eyes light up when he was even passingly civil. The innocence rankled. The sweetness. The fact that you got to stay the same while he was beaten into submission. 

It didn’t take long. Not for the next phase of his plan to take place. Models were in easy supply. Everyone wanted to fuck a hero. And when he started looking, women crawled out of the woodwork. Perfect. The perfect thing to trot out.

The first one had almost been accidental but after that... well after that, it was fun. The shock. The blushing. The scampering up the hall. The next morning knowing you’d skip breakfast to get your work out in. It felt right, ripping those pieces of innocence out from under you. Forcing you to stop in your tracks and deal with this reality instead of sprinkling glitter on it.

He loved every minute of snatching that out of your hands. But, he reflected, it felt like it was time for something... new. Of course, he came to this conclusion when you walked in on him fucking some blonde off of Tinder in the motor pool when you were going to get your jeep and you’d not looked nearly... startled, enough. He needed more, he decided. He just needed to figure out how to get it.


	8. Chapter 8

A.C.

“I only have the one bed,” you tell Clint as your face heats.

The archer smiles a little and takes towels from you to go shower, “I’m not kicking a lady out of her bed,” he said, “I’ll take a blanket and the couch.”

“Clint-” you start making him turn to face you, “I’m sorry you came all the way out here.”

He gives you a crooked smile and leans on the bathroom door frame, “I’m not,” he answers. He watches as you turn and walk away. He wishes you were less vulnerable. Less sad. So he could feel right about wanting to ask you to get in the shower with him. Or wanting to tell you he doesn’t mind sharing your bed. But he can’t bring himself to say it. Not to you. Not after the things he learned. He took a deep breath and sighed, feeling like an utter buffoon. He used to be good at reading people. 

A trick from his Carnie days to figure out what bullshit would work best for the audience. But, as he plays the events back in his head, watching that back in his head, overlaid with what was happening, he could kick himself. For not seeing it. And then kick your ass for playing right into his hands. 

But then. The team was your family. And what person expects their family to do them that dirty? Even if you’d had a family that had done it before. You just wanted so badly for someone to love you and prove that you weren’t the terrible person you thought you were. And Bucky knew it. 

As Clint started the shower, he tried to calm down. He knew that if he came down angry, you’d misinterpret it and then quietly set about getting obnoxiously helpful and compliant to try and make it stop. You’d do anything he asked just to stop feeling like you were walking on eggshells… A feeling Clint knew well. And one he countered, usually, by being an obstinant asshole, stomping on the shells and the devil take the pieces. But that had ended about as well for him as it had for you. He sighed and stepped into the water, looking down at some of the scars on his body. He knew which ones were from what fight. Which ones were leftover from his parents. And he knew that whatever you’d learned to do to survive had been the only thing to do. That if you were still here, it had worked, and it wasn’t just going to go away. No matter how much he loved you.

________________________________

The Crush

Thor had had a sinking feeling in his stomach from the moment you left for the mission. He’d tried to tell Steve without telling Steve why it shouldn’t be you to go with Bucky but… How do you say to a man that his best friend. Who he trusts implicitly. Is going to hurt someone. And MAKE him listen. And what’s worse, Thor had had to watch all this from a distance. His suspicions aroused when suddenly. Publicly. Bucky was almost friendly to you instead of just occasionally civil. 

So. When Steve put the two of you going undercover, Alarm bells had started ringing in his head. For a week or so, Thor had thought that Bucky had managed to choke the life out of the feelings you’d had for him. And it had been horrifying to watch him stoke them back up gently. And it only confirmed what he had thought he knew. That Bucky had known. The whole time that you harbored feelings for him, however quietly. And now he was going to play with them… Why he didn’t know. But bound as he was by the promise he had made, he couldn’t say a word. All he could do was pray to the Norns that this would end quickly. 

It had taken effort to restrain a growl when Bucky had put a hand on your lower back to guide you up the steps. And more effort not to tell Bruce everything when the scientist noticed the tension in his shoulders.

_______________

“C’ mon, Doll,” Bucky said, giving you a charming little half-smile, “We’re gonna be late.”

You take a deep breath. This was terrifying for several reasons. Partly because you weren’t really a spy. But mostly because Bucky was sweet. Really nice. And you didn’t want it to stop. 

“Don’t be scared,” he’d coaxed, “And remember to smile. We’re supposed to be a couple.” That’s what he’d whispered to you on the way off the plane to meet the HYDRA agents you were supposed to be convincing you were really double agents. You wanted to believe it was for the cover ID. 

You wanted to. But you couldn’t.

Not when he traced idle patterns into your skin. Not when his lips found yours and cold metal fingers traced the scar on your belly. It was a daydream. He was saying things you’d spent hours imagining. 

Heated skin and wet hungry kisses. The feel of him pushing between your thighs. Again. And again. 

And you couldn’t tell him “no,” not when it felt that good. Not when he looked at you the way you wanted him to. Not even if you were still desperately trying to tell yourself it was just for the mission. It was beautiful. Even if the task was stressful. Even if you hated it and you hated the way the HYDRA agents pretended you didn’t exist. 

Alone. With Bucky. It didn’t matter. 

It wasn’t until the ride home. After three weeks. That it all went wrong. It started with, “I hope you don’t think any of that was real, Y/N.” and ended with, “I had to make them believe that you were mine. And this,” he’d said, cold metal fingers grazing your neck and the marks he’d put there, “Made it easy.”

He enjoys it. Watching your efforts to maintain. To hide the hollow feeling in your chest and nausea in your stomach. “I’d never-” you start, “I just-”

He snorted, “You’re not my type,” he said, “Are you even anyone’s type?”

Ice filled your belly and swirled through you. You felt chilled and hurt. Even if you knew it wasn’t real. You’d desperately wanted it to be. You’d wanted to believe the illusion. Because it felt so fucking good. Just to be loved. And you don’t know what to do. You feel raw. Exposed. But you mostly feel stupid. 

And so. You stay quiet. There’s nothing to say. It’s already happened. It’s done. And had been done for weeks. Now all there was, was the grim reality that something you had wanted to have with someone who loved you was gone, and you couldn’t get that moment back.

You can’t face Thor, knowing that it’ll take him less than a second to understand what happened. To understand how fucking stupid you’d been. And you don’t think you can take it. Either way. Not derision or comfort. You’re not sure what you’d get, but you really can’t process either one. And you can’t tell Natasha. Not even when she raises an eyebrow at the marks on your throat. Silently telling you, she wants details later. You can’t take any of it. 

It hurts. It all hurts. And all you want to do is cry. 

____________

“Y/N?” Thor asked quietly, careful not to wake Bruce when he heard your soft knock on the door.

You look like you haven’t slept. Like you might be sick. And Thor’s heart breaks for you. He’d known from the second you dragged yourself to the debriefing on the mission. And gods if he hadn’t been furious. He’d not been able to speak to you, you’d been too careful to stay away. But that didn’t mean he didn’t try. 

“I- I- I,” you start crying before you can get it out, and he pulls you out of the hall and into their room, hugging you tight.

“I know,” he said softly, “Shhh, sweetheart. We’re here. Whatever you need, okay?”

“I don’t know,” you sputter, accepting tissues Bruce is proffering.

Bruce had no idea what was going on. All he knew is that you weren’t okay. And hadn’t been for a while. So when Thor pulled you into their room to talk in private, he didn’t need to ask questions.

“Barnes is the father, isn’t he?” Thor asks softly, needing confirmation from you.

You nod, swallowing hard and cover your face with your hands. Bruce makes a soft sound of understanding and glances at Thor before going to make you something to drink. 

For a few minutes, Thor keeps you against his side and just lets you cuddle close. Until you sit up to take the mug, Bruce is holding and wrap your trembling hands around it. “Don’t make decisions in crisis mode,” Bruce said gently, sitting on your other side. “People are stupid when they panic,” he continues, “You have time to think. So take it. Okay?” 

Thor catches Bruce’s eye and smiles his thanks. Grateful that Bruce is half awake and thinking clearly. Thor had been about to start pressing on you, anxious to fix it. But as some of the tension left your shoulders and you relaxed into the warmth, and the blanket Thor had wrapped around you, he understood that that would be a bad idea. They don’t ask you questions. They don’t press. They just let you be, staying close and giving you warmth to snuggle into and drinks and snacks. Until you could sleep. However, fitfully, snuggled up with them on the sofa. 

When you sit up, groggy, and Wrung out, Bruce kisses your head, “You okay?” he asked gently.

“I’m sorry I crashed so long,” you say, trying to deflect the question.

“That’s no an answer,” Thor scolded.

“I feel like someone hollowed out my head,” you answer after a long moment. 

Bruce winced, “That’s never a good feeling,” he murmured, rubbing your neck gently. 

You take a deep breath, “I should go,” you tell them.

“You don’t have to,” Bruce said, looking at Thor for help. He genuinely doesn’t think you need to be alone right now. 

“I took up enough of your day,” you murmur.

Thor kisses your head, “Witchling,” he scolds gently.

“No,” you tell them, shaking your head, “I’ll be okay… I just. I need to move. I need to be doing something.”

“Be nice to yourself,” Bruce cautioned, watching you get to your feet. “And come find someone if you need them,” Thor said, “Whatever you need.”

You nod, “Thank you.” Your voice is quiet. Very quiet. But you seem better. At least. A little better. And as they watch you walk away, neither of them are sure what to do now. All they are sure of is that Bucky deserves to be punched in the face. And For once, Thor finds himself having to stop Bruce from doing the punching. 

“I’m gonna tear him apart,” Bruce growls, turning a little green around the irises.

“Bruce,” Thor says quietly, “Don’t. Don’t draw attention to it. If you charge down there and cave-in that blackguard’s face, everyone is going to want to know why.”

“So,” he growled, starting to pant.

“And the witchling will have to tell them. Everyone. And instead of looking after herself, she’s going to start trying to placate all of us.”

It takes a minute. A long minute. And Thor wrapping him in a bear hug, but the words penetrate. “Is that why you haven’t done anything?”

“I made a promise,” he said, practically spitting the words out. “I found her crying when I went to ask her to read some cards for me… She wouldn’t tell me who she was in love with but… It did not take me long to find out.”

Bruce sighed, “I just… it’s so fucking gross. I don’t understand how he could do that.”

“I know,” Thor rumbled, kissing him gently, “But we’ll protect her. At least until she can do it herself.

____________

Clint leans on the door of your office, panting, “There you are!” he says, pointing an accusing finger at his dog. “Asshole’s had me chasing him all over the compound for a bath.”

“Hims not an asshole,” you say, stroking his ears fondly when he rested his head on your lap. “He’s been keeping me company.”

Clint mock grumbles and sits on the edge of your desk, making himself at home, “I should have checked here first… Lucky likes you more than me.”

“I just don’t give him baths,” you say, smiling a little.

“That and you’re nicer to look at,” he teases, anxious to get you to laugh. It was only partly true that he’d not known where to find Lucky. He’d woken up to find his dog gone, and when he’d gone to find you, figuring Lucky had wanted breakfast and had gone to get you for eggs and a bite of banana, he couldn’t find you either. But he had seen Thor. And Thor had told him carefully that you’d been feeling unwell so he’d walked you to medical from the training room.

It had taken Clint roughly 30 seconds to find Lucky waiting outside medical for you looking worried. “Good boy,” he said softly, “Look after our girl, huh?” Lucky whined, and Clint smiled a little, “No, I don’t know what’s wrong. But they’ll fix her up. You just keep her company… and you can have a stay of execution for a couple days.” The dog woofed softly. “No, not literally. But no bath. At least not this week,” Clint answered.

And he’d known after that EXACTLY where Lucky would be. 

But you don’t laugh, you just look away.

“Are you okay?” Clint asked softly.

“Fine,” you tell him, feigning brightness. A tone of voice that makes Lucky press closer. 

“Are you sure? I- Thor said you’d not felt well.” he pressed gently.

You tell him you’re fine, but he doesn’t miss the crack in your voice and a sudden overbright look in your eyes before you look away again. When Clint left, feeling wrong-footed. Like he’d just stumbled into something incredibly painful, Lucky followed. And for a long moment, you sat at your desk and tried to work. You tried to focus. But you felt… you felt like you couldn’t breathe. And it was time to go.

_________

“Y/N?” Tony said, frowning, “Is everything okay?”

“I just… I have some things I need to do,” you say. You’re lying. Lying through your teeth, but you don’t want to answer questions.

“Anything we can help with?” Steve asks, folding his arms.

“No,” you blurt out, too fast. 

“Your last mission-” Tony started.

“Was fine,” you tell them, “It all happened like we said in the debrief.” That’s the lie that makes Steve raise an eyebrow. He hadn’t missed the marks on your neck. Or how withdrawn you’d been.

Bucky had been similarly tight-lipped. Another disjointed piece. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” Steve asked. 

“Vaguely,” you answer. And that was true. That was the only thing you were capable of thinking. Because the only place you knew you were going was… just. Away.


	9. Chapter 9

Now

Clint opened his eyes slowly. He wasn’t asleep, but with his hearing aids out, it wasn’t your walking towards him that prompted it. It was the light touch of your fingers on his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up, worried. “Are you okay?”

You nod slowly and take a deep breath, “Can I sleep with you?”

He felt his heart flutter, and he smiled, “Forget your teddy bear?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, cheeks heating.

“Come’er,” he coaxed, shoving the quilt aside to pull you onto the couch with him. He’s dimly aware that he could sleep with you in your bed. But if that’s what you wanted, that’s what you would have said. You wanted to be here. So here he’d keep you. He holds his arms out, and you go. Snuggling close, your head on his shoulder so you can bury your face in his neck. It reminds Clint irresistibly of a little kid seeking comfort in a storm. And he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t doubt that you’ve had trouble sleeping. And been emotional. He’s seen you tear up at the drop of a hat again and again. And he has questions. A lot of questions. 

But they can wait. 

Because lying in the semi-darkness, staring at the moon out the window, he can almost understand what you mean when you say that the moon is singing as he watches dustmotes and fireflies. Because you’re here. And you’re safe. And because he’s sure that he loves you. He loves you in ways he can’t put to words. But he knows because you feel like home. The smell of your shampoo and the warmth of your breath tickling his neck. The feel of your fingers tangled in his shirt, clinging to him for comfort like a teddy bear. It’s home. This is home. And even if he never gets to do this again, he has right now. And it’s perfect. So perfect. And he never wants to go to sleep. But, like any time he wants to stay awake, there’s no running from rest. It sneaks up on him like you do during laser tag. And then, all he knows is nothing. Nothing except the best sleep he’s had in 10 years. 

In the morning, he wakes up alone, but the smell of coffee breakfast cooking gets him to his feet. He finds his hearing aids, putting them in as he wanders into your kitchen, “Hey,” he said softly. 

“Hey,” you answer, “Hungry?” You hold out a cup of coffee, and he crosses the floor to take it. 

“Starving,” he said, taking a seat at the breakfast bar to watch you work.

“I hope you like blueberry,” you say apologetically, “I bought way too many at the farmers market.”

He grins and tilts his head, “Babe, when have I EVER complained about pancakes?”

“True,” you answer, flipping a cake onto the plate and adding a couple more with butter and bacon. 

He takes the plate and groans, “This looks amazing.”

Your cheeks heat, and you don’t answer right away. Turning to start doing some cleaning up. “I’m sorry I woke you up last night.”

“I’m not,” he garbled around a mouthful of food before he swallowed, “That was the best sleep I had in forever… Forgot how good I sleep with someone cuddling me.”

He knows he’s probably making you anxious. That you don’t know how to handle someone refusing to let you feel bad. But the thing is, he hates that you do that. That you flay yourself over any little thing. And he refuses to let you. Not over something as small as asking for comfort. 

“How do you feel?” he asked after the silence had stretched on for a few minutes. 

You sigh, and he can see you weighing an answer. “It’s… weird,” you tell him. “I don’t regret my choice. But my hormones fucking do. So I can logically think about what I’m feeling but… Fuck if I can do anything effective about it.”

Clint blinks for a second. He hadn’t considered that. It just wasn’t on his radar. “That- that sounds like hell,” he murmured. 

“It is,” you say, exhaling slowly, “But- it’s for the best. I can’t- I mean. Looking after me is a full-time job… And I can’t really see Bucky helping me do little league or girl scouts.”

Clint snorted bitterly, “No. Probably not.”

He wanted to add that he would. But this wasn’t the right time. You were tearing up again and trying not to cry. 

You look away for a minute, and Clint stays quiet, eating and wondering if you’re going to make a plate or if you just cooking for something to do. When you put the rest of the food away without a dish of your own, he winces, “No breakfast?” he asks gently.

“I tried a bite earlier. It didn’t work.”

Clint cock his head, “Didn’t work?”

“I couldn’t swallow, and it just didn’t taste good.”

He still doesn’t get it. It’s amazing. But then. Food was a tricky thing for you, and it had been as long as he’d known you. Sometimes shit like that just happened when you didn’t feel well. Nothing tasted good. You had to struggle to eat. Or other times, you ate fine. There was no rhyme or reason to it. 

Clint nods and goes to wash his plate, “Well, what do you need, babe?”

“Just some time,” you tell him with a small smile, “maybe some cuddles. I came out here to basically wallow and wait for the storm to pass. Plan my next move.”

“Home,” Clint insists, “Please come home.”

“Why?” your tone is soft. You genuinely want to know. It’s not sarcastic or bitter or angry. You just want to know.

“Because it is home. Because I- Because we love you,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Because Dr. Strange isn’t as fun on missions. And because everything feels weird without you.”

You sigh, “But-”

“I know,” he said, “You’re scared to go back. To face Bucky. But you’re gonna be fine, baby girl. I’m not gonna let him hurt you. Whatever made him think this was okay, I’ll beat it out of him if I have to. I mean, hell… I think Bruce was just gonna go beat him to death. And not as the Hulk.”

You open your mouth to answer, and he puts a hand over it gently, “You don’t have to decide now,” he soothes, “Just let me be here for you. I mean. I have no idea what I’m doing, but… Please don’t just wallow out here alone.”

You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, looking for comfort, and he sets his plate down, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your head. “You have time,” he reminds gently, “So take it.”

You thud your head against his sternum and groan, “I can’t- I just. I knew he didn’t love me, but-” you trail off and swallow hard. 

“You wanted him to,” Clint finished, “so when he started being nice, you kinda forgot.”

“I just. I wanted it so much.”

Clint nods, “I had that. A few times. And I still haven’t learned.”

He tilts your chin up and smiles a little, “How old were you when you left home?”

“I was 12 when they threw me out,” you murmur, “I got my period and my powers in the same week… They threw me out after my stepdad was screaming at me for… fuck knows what. He was about to shove me, and I yelled, “Stop… and he did. He fucking froze mid-swing at the top of the stairs.”

You snort, “Not even an hour later, I was on a greyhound bus going who knows where… Worst. Birthday. Ever.”

Clint smiles a little, “Have you seen anyone since?”

You shake your head, “They reported me as a runaway, but then… after a few days, everyone just kinda stopped looking.”

“You shoulda joined the circus,” Clint teased. 

“And step all over your tragic backstory?” you counter, “Fuck that. I needed my own.”

Clint is quiet for a long minute, and you sigh. 

“Sometimes,” you say slowly, “I wish my mom was someone I wanted to call.”

“You can call Nat,” Clint said, “She’s low key worried about you.” He knows it isn’t the same. But he wants to remind you how fucking loved you are. That you deserve the love, they’re all giving you. Even now. 

“I know I can,” you answer, “I could have- probably should have told her everything but-”

Clint kisses your head, “But you didn’t want to be told what to do or how to feel.”

You nod.

“I know we treat you like a baby,” he says, “But… you are. I mean. You’re a baby to all of us in different ways.”

“What about you?”

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass,” he says, grinning, “but Christ, are you cute.”

“Clint-” you start.

“I mean, I love you. I really love you… I don’t think I figured that out until you were demanding that I bring Lucky to see you, though… Such a brat.”

He smiles a little sadly, “I know you’re all heartbroken and shit. I know you probably never want to have anything to do with men again, but… Just know. I’m not laying in wait. I looked for you because I missed my friend. And if all we ever are is friends, babe. That’s all I need. So don’t- I mean. Don’t feel like obligated or anything. I mean. Lucky needs a mom, but you can be his favorite person without dating me.”

You giggle, and Clint lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Clint, you dummy,” you groan, voice muffled by his chest, “I love you.”

“I know,” he answers, resting his cheek on your head. And he did know. It was an immutable fact. The sun was going to come up, and you loved him. The way you loved all of them. And that- even if it wasn’t romantic, was no small thing. Even if it didn’t mean getting married and having babies, it was still comfortable just being near you. 

“But, he rumbles, “If you go be with Bucky after all this…”

You shake your head, “If I ever see him again, he’s gonna wish he’d just killed me,” you say. It isn’t a threat. It’s a promise. Punctuated by a casual tilt of your head that makes your neck pop. And Clint shivers reflexively. The last time he saw you do that, you were getting ready to rip someone’s head off. Literally. 

“I’m not sure if that just made me scared or Horny,” he said out loud.

And when you laugh, the butterflies in his stomach take wing.


	10. Chapter 10

Clint trailed after you through the woods, idly reflecting that Lucky would be in doggie heaven with all the smells to smell and shit to chase. He wondered if he could have Nat bring him. But then, he didn’t want to bring more people here. He wanted you to himself. He wanted to coax you into coming home. To do that, you needed time. Time and some distance. 

Not, Clint thought to himself, that that was a bad thing. You knew what you needed better than he did. And, well. He definitely did not mind sleeping with you on his chest at night and wandering the woods with you when you got the itch to ramble. He liked it out here. It was different from the BFE of his childhood. 

And until now, he never thought he’d want this. The quiet domesticity of it. A creaky old house and a pretty girl to bring him coffee in the morning. “Y/N?” he asked panting, “Where the fuck are we going?”

You stop, leaning on your staff, “The caves,” you answer, smiling a little.

“You own fucking caves too?” he says, hurrying to catch up to them.

“Why do you think I bought this piece of property?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

Clint takes a drink of water and gives you a crooked smile, “It’s out of the way?”

“It’s out of the way, and was prime ground for bootleg hooch during Prohibition... The caves are man-made but with a little alteration I could make it work.”

“Work for what?” he says, catching up to you. 

You don’t answer but you do smile at him. And for a moment, Clint wonders what he’s gotten himself into. But still. As he followed you through the woods, he didn’t mind that either. You were magic. Everything about this piece of property had a palpable sense of otherness. It feels like it’s own universe, but then. That doesn’t surprise him either. This is where you go to hide. It makes sense that you’d arrange it to your liking. Especially when you tend to live and work in an environment that isn’t suited to you with all it’s concrete and lack of privacy. 

Clint can only hear his own footsteps. You slide through the brush like a ghost. Like you do on marble floors and carpet. It’s a common thing in the tower for someone to threaten to put a bell around your neck. And an even more common thing to have you fight rookies in a dark room to make them rely on more than their ears. They only do it once, but after that they get a lot more attentive. When you finally stopped walking in front of a cave, Clint whistled softly. “Neat,” he said walking closer, “This is man-made?”

You nod, “Yeah... A happy accident really. Whoever surveyed the shit for the realtor missed it or I would have NEVER afforded it.”

“Nice,” he said grinning.

You nod, smiling a little, “C’ mon,” you say, leading him inside, “I’ve gotta check on everything.”

Clint gestures for you to go ahead. Trying to remember how to be respectful of wards and things. But, when he crosses the threshold for just a second, he’s frankly in awe.

He can see what you meant by “A little Alteration” but, he’s shocked at the level of craft in all of it. It looks like a planetarium. With a waterfall. And exotic plants. And everywhere he looks there are shelves lined with books.

“A fucking water fall?” Clint yelped. “How!”

You smile up at him, kneeling to check on a plant, “Magic, Clint.”

“How deep is that little pool at the bottom?” he asks.

“Deep enough,” you say fondly.

“Really? Can I?” he says, excited.

You nod, “Have at it,” you tell him.

Clint doesn’t need telling twice, stripping out of his shirt and climbing up the rocks as quickly as he can pick a path. You half turn to watch him jump in and give him a small round of applause. 

“What’d the judges say?” he yelled.

“Amature Bullsiht,” you tease, “Weren’t you in the circus? Isn’t there supposed to be some pizazz?”

“Fuck you,” he says, swimming to the edge, “My form was impeccable.”

“No pizzaz, sorry,” you tell him, smirking.

“Pizzaz? You want pizzaz?” he grouses, climbing out to climb back up the rocks to jump again. You stay knelt at the edge, watching expectantly. And Clint, Bless him, does give you your required entertainment factor as he leaps off the rocks and does a flip before flipping you off.

“Beautiful,” you call giggling when he comes up sputtering. 

Clint swims back to the edge and grins up at you, “Come swim with me?” he says.

“Clint-”

“Oh come on,” he pouts, “It’s not like I haven’t seen you half-naked before. And don’t get me wrong... I appreciate the view, but really. It just gets boring swimming alone.” He can tell he pushed too hard when you look away and softens, hauling himself up to kiss your cheek. 

“I don’t really feel like swimming,” you tell him. Bucky’s voice in the back of your head telling you no one wanted you.

“Then you don’t have to,” he soothed, “But I really wish you would.” He’d love to rough house with you. To do all the splashing and giggling. But this place wasn’t a water park. It was a sanctuary. And it was yours. He was a guest here. So when you shake your head again, he kisses your nose and smiles. “Okay,” he murmurs. 

You get up and lay towels where he can get to them before padding off to check on other things. Clint watched you for a moment, floating on his back in the perfect temperature water and watching the ceiling. Stars floated by on the ceiling, drifting to their positions as of the time of day. A facsimile moon steadily rising and filling in but... that tells him nothing about the time. Not that he cares. It feels comfortable. 

Still, eventually, he climbs out and towels off, “This place is incredible,” he says, “But what is it?”

You shrug, “An archive. An extra layer of security. It’s on a ley line so... I could stay here forever if I needed to.”

Clint nods, “Thank you,” he says, kissing your temple, “For brining me.”

“You’re the first,” you tell him, smiling a little.

“Really?” he asked.

You nod, thinking. Clint fit here. But in your mind’s eye, you couldn’t see Bucky here. In fact, your wards probably wouldn’t have let him through. No one who had any ill intent could get through. And you knew Clint didn’t. His intentions were clear. 

___________

When Clint wakes up alone in the middle of the night, he looks for you frantically for a minute, fixing his hearing aids in place as he goes room to room. 

You’re gone. Just gone. So he bursts outside to check the grounds. The barn, the shed. and then, coming around the corner of the house, he sees you. In the pond, wading into the water. He stops short when he realizes two things. One, that you’re perfectly fine, and two, you are very naked. Skin glowing in the full moonlight. His mouth goes dry and he takes a deep breath. It looks like a scene from a movie or something. It makes him feel light-headed and he wants to creep closer for a better look. He wants to sneak back into the house and give you privacy. But he’s stuck, staring. Aching to touch you. To show you what it feels like to have someone love you like you deserve. 

But when you start to turn towards him, he bolts. Acutely aware that staring at you is creepy and he needs to leave. He needs to stop doing it and respect whatever it is you’re doing. 

Still, when he gets in the house, even a cold shower can’t do anything for him. And he hates it. He feels like a stupid kid again. A stupid kid backstage at the circus with a crush on a pretty red-headed sword swallower. He feels even more stupid adjusting the temperature of the water and thinking about you. About the things, he wanted to do with you. The way you'd sound crying out for more. Whimpering his name. He’s ashamed of himself honestly when he finds release. But he has to admit that he feels better. Like he can go back to sleep.

But he doesn’t. 

He waits until he hears you in your bathroom, right before dawn. Then gets back out of bed and goes to fix you... something.

“Clint?” he hears from the kitchen door.

“I-I- I woke up and you were gone,” he starts.

You sigh, “I- had a nightmare,” you explain, “I didn’t want to wake you up trying to get back to sleep.”

He nods, feeling like a bigger asshole, “So I looked for you,” he said blushing scarlet, “And well I- I found you.”

Your cheeks heat and he swallows hard, “Sorry- I - I didn’t I mean I didn’t stay but- and I didn’t mean to. I left.”

You nod, “It’s okay- sorry. I was too hot.”

“I’ll say,” he blurts out.

And even as your cheeks burn, you giggle.

______________

Clint leans on the railing, watching you lock the door. “Are you sure you’re ready?” he asks, “We don’t have to go back yet.”

You nod and look around, “I mean, I have to go back sometime.”

“But now?” he asks, cupping your chin in his hand.

You nod again and he pulls you close.

“I’ll be right next to you, okay?”

“Okay.”

He isn’t sure how to define this relationship. It feels like dating. It feels like love. But he’s not kissed you since he kissed you to stop you talking. And every night in your bed were chaste, soft cuddles. But he didn’t care. It felt good. It felt right. Somehow physically more intimate than if he had had you riding his dick every night. He figures that this defies explanation and... honestly. For right now he likes it this way. More than friends and less than lust. That he can deal with. 

And. To top it off. You’re coming home.


	11. Chapter 11

In the commons, a movie was playing. But no one was watching it, not really. Without you and without Clint, Movie night isn’t the same. 

It’s too quiet. There aren’t enough jokes. Or enough people that have seen Mystery Science Theater to appreciate riffing on movies and how to do it right. Even Lucky, who would be begging for pets and pizza, is down. He misses Clint. And you. 

“Has anyone heard from Barton?” Steve asked, stroking the dog's ears. 

Tony shakes his head, “I called, but he was really non-specific about what was going on... All he did say is that Y/N is okay and that he’s trying to get her to come home.”

Steve nods and stretches, “I wonder if he’s had any luck.”

Thor growls softly when Bucky rolls his eyes. It’s a subvocal sound that Bruce feels more than hears and puts a hand on his arm. 

“I hope so,” Nat said, “That last mission with Strange was a nightmare.”

“Indeed,” Thor agreed, “Our witchling is much more agreeable... And powerful. When she recognizes how strong she is.”

Natasha nodded, but before she had a chance to reply, Lucky’s ears had perked up, and he bolted out of the room. A furry bullet on a mission.

“Where-” Steve started, but a series of happy barks and Clint laughing put the rest of them on their feet. By the time they made it into the hall, Lucky had effectively tackled you to the ground and was licking your face like he’d not seen you for months instead of a few weeks. “Lucky, ya moose,” you giggle, “Help!”

Lucky, ya goofball,” Clint said, pulling him off and patting his side, “At least pretend you have manners.

But then, before there was anything else, you’re pulled into hugs and fussing before you can do much more than take a breath. You accept hugs, but stay quiet about where you went. Or why. And Clint, as much as he’d like to grab Bucky and choke the life out of him for using you that way, follows your lead. You’d talked a lot. Making a strategy for how to handle this. You had talked. And talked. And talked. Tangential and scattered. Panicked. Clint had almost turned around and taken you back to your little house. But, on the flight, you’d calmed down a little at a time. And now, your hand found his as you pointedly ignored Bucky. A detail that, in all the chaos, Clint knew most people were going to overlook. 

Everyone but Thor and Bruce looked at your joined hands in amusement. They assumed that Clint had finally made a move to coax you into coming back. And you and Clint had agreed to let them think that. You had a plan. Even if Clint didn’t like it. He understood it. 

Bucky had wanted to hurt you. He’d twisted and lied and manipulated so well, he’d succeeded. But, like with most toxic relationships. It was a battlefield. And Bucky had only won a battle. You were going to win the war. And you were going to win by refusing to fight. By blatantly ignoring that he existed and by living your life. 

You just... refuse to play the game. And Clint. Well. Clint was gonna do whatever you decided. He knew, probably better than anyone why you wanted it to be this way. You were still in survival mode. Like you always would be. And he knew that because that’s what he was doing. He wanted to protect you. He wanted to fight Bucky. Even if he knew it would only make it worse for you. So he took a deep breath and pulled you a little closer. He could do this. He could do this for you because you deserved to heal. You deserved to be happy. Like you were right now. 

Even if he could feel Bucky quietly seething every time you leaned into him. Clint refused to stop touching you. He refused to undo all the work he’d put in to get you back here.

___________

Things settle down slowly. And Clint gets more comfortable. There’s an easy rhythm to working you into his day. Casual touches. Jokes. Cups of coffee. The pace of this relationship is, by design, slow. 

Achingly slow to the rest of the team. But, Clint gets it. You don’t want him to be a rebound, and he doesn’t want to push you. You had a lot. A lot of complicated feelings around intimacy and, well. No wonder. Before you’d been on your own, there’d been the puritanical idea of being “pure.” After that, it had faded to the concept of someone you loved. That loved you. But it was still there. The need for that to be a moment. Something you only shared with one person. and Bucky had taken it. Taken that moment from you. Like a greedy kid snatching a cookie. Clint didn’t have those hang-ups. But, he could respect your consideration for him. That you didn’t want to use him as a rebound. 

He’d reassured you that it was fine. That he could do “slow” even if “slow” had never been his forte.

“Barton!” Steve barked, “Stop staring at your girlfriend and pay attention.”

Clint rolled his eyes. He wasn’t even looking at you. He was looking at Bucky, who was looking at you. Bucky was looking at you like he was planning while you and Natasha did some Yoga and had a gossip. It made him want to rip his fucking arm off and beat him with it.

“Seriously, dude,” Sam said, “Just have sex already. This middle school bullshit is cute but-”

Clint holds up a hand, “Hey Sam,” he says, “When I want you to tell me what to do with my dick, I’ll marry you.”

“I’m just-”

“No,” Clint said bluntly, “If you’re not feeding me, fucking me, or financing me, stay out of it.”

Thor makes a soft approving sound and claps Clint on the shoulder, “Well said,” he praised. He was gratified to know that Barton had good intentions. Of course. He’d known that, but it was good to see in action. 

_________

Natasha sat up slowly and stretched, “I still don’t understand why you left.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” you answer.

“I don’t understand that, either.”

“Look,” you say, rubbing your neck, “It isn’t important.”

“But it’s important enough that Clint gets to know,” she said, hurt.

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, “I was going through some shit, okay?” you tell her, “I was in a pretty bad spot, and I don’t want to keep going back over it. It's over. It’s done. I just wanna put it to bed and move on.”

Natasha frowns, “But-”

“I’m fine,” you say, gentling your tone, “I promise. I just... I needed some distance. It gave me the perspective I needed. I needed a plan. And now I have it.”

“And Clint,” Natasha teased.

“And Clint,” you agree, smiling a little.

“How is he?”

You raise an eyebrow, and she smirks, “Does he giggle?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you say primly.

“How-”

You sigh, “Tasha,” you answer, “you know why.”

“But you like him.”

“I do,” you agree.

“So-”

“So, we’re moving at the pace we want to move at,” you say firmly, “And that’s that.”

The Spy smiled a little, “I can’t believe you told Clint and not me,” she pouted, teasing you just a little. 

You sigh, “It was just. It was a lot Tasha. I don’t know how to explain it. I just didn’t want to cause and issue. And then Clint showed up and he gave me those big puppy dog eyes and was like ‘I just miss my friend’ and he fucking... He’s Clint.”

“He’s Clint,” she agreed nodding. He’d done the same thing to her on several occasions. It was hard to be indifferent to those big baby blues and his crooked smile. Especially not when it was genuine and not bravado. When it was bravado it gave him a very punchable face. “But are you really dating?” she asked. Natasha knew you had weird hangups with sex and relationships. That you wanted the whole nine yards. The Hallmark movie treatment with all the cute little romantic things. That you wanted a house with Ivy and a white picket fence... where you stood on kids depended on the day. But you still wanted a partner. Someone to have your back. Someone who would bring you flowers sometimes. 

“Yeah,” You say, catching Clint’s eye and smiling a little when Natasha takes your arm and you start walking towards the locker room. Clint winks at you and Natasha snorts as he walks smack into the nearest column trying to watch you walk away. 

In the showers, you and Natasha chat while washing off the workout nastiness. You chat about frozen yogurt. About where you want to go shopping in the city. You gush about makeup palates and discuss the virtues of various restaurant’s miso soup. It’s mundane. Comfortable. Like you’re picking up where you left off. Natasha is comforted, somewhat. That it wasn’t personal. That you hadn’t not talked to her for any specific reason. That her friends were happy. And like always, Natasha gets done long before you do. Teasing you about cutting your hair to be done faster. 

When she sees Bucky in the hallway, scrolling through his phone she doesn’t think anything of it. Steve has a thing about Phones on the training room floor. What does alarm her? A lot. Is an almighty crash and Bucky being thrown backward. Out of the hallway and sliding across the mats. Only to have you leap. Actually leap and land on his chest, staff in hand with a snarl. 

Thor is the closest and gets there first, though he doesn’t move to pull you off of him. Clint isn’t far behind him. He doesn't move to help Bucky either. But there are close enough to hear you growling at him. Using your staff to hold his arms down. And a considerable amount of magic to keep him there even as he’s struggling to get his vibranium arm free. 

“Fuck you,” is all Steve can hear you snarl, “You come near me like that again. You LOOK at me and I don’t fucking want you to and I will tear you apart.”

“Y/N,” he says, his tone firm, “Let him up, he can’t breathe.”

You growl at Steve too, eyes silver and luminous, and that’s when Clint steps forward to try and get you out of kill mode. Bucky is turning a frankly alarming shade of red. And Clint is willing to bet you don’t actually want Bucky dead. You just want him to be scared. Scared enough not to touch you. So Clint kneels where you can turn your head and see him, “Baby,” he says quietly, “Let him up. You made your point, okay? C’mon. Come with me. I know you. This has been on a slow simmer for a while. But come with me. Just get off of him.”

He keeps his voice soft. Coaxing gently. Like he did to get Lucky out from behind his dumpster. Because what people didn’t know was HYDRA/SHIELD didn’t manage to make you a supersoldier. You weren’t. What they did, to make you faster and stronger was infect you with a specific kind of Lycanthropy. That your Witches’ Powers neutralized the need to turn but didn’t do much to temper the fury. Bucky was starting to get a little purple by the time Clint managed to talk you off of him. You get off of him slowly, coming back into yourself and looking distressed and Clint pulls you against his side. 

“You touch her again and I’ll let her tear your throat out,” Clint warns, grateful when Thor takes your other side. Thor can grab hold of you if you need held back. Clint can’t. He also won’t. He’ll just let you fucking kill him. 

______________

“Bucky,” Steve said softly, “What the fuck did you do?”

Bucky coughs and gasps for breath, letting Steve help him up, “Nothing,” he says, “I was just standing there.”

Steve’s eyes narrow, “You know that’s bullshit.”

Bucky hacks for a second, “She just jumped me.”

“She said,” Steve said levelly, “That you touched her. And ever since she got back you’ve been an asshole. Again.”

Steve folds his arms and his eyes narrowed and Natasha looked towards the door Clint had just walked you out of. A moment of comprehension dawning, “You’re the reason she left!” Natasha blurted out.

Bucky half-turned, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, “What the fuck did you do to her?”

“She attacked me!” Bucky protested. 

“And we wanna know what you did to deserve it,” Steve said, getting angry, “She doesn’t do shit like that for fun, Bucky. She hates it. It makes her feel like a monster... So what did you do to make her feel like that was her only option?”


	12. Chapter 12

Clint doesn’t talk for a long time. Your breathing is still ragged. You’re still coming back around. And, like before, you need time. Time to readjust. Time to get back to where you’d been before. 

He knew, kind of, what this state felt like. Like you’d touched a live wire. Every sense heightened until you could practically echolocate. Thor raises an eyebrow, and Clint nods, “Hot bath, clean clothes, cuddles,” Clint murmured, “She’ll be okay.”

Thor frowned, but nodded, leaving Clint to take care of you and go find Bruce. Bruce would want to know about this. Thor, for his part, was honestly thrilled. “kill mode” wasn’t something that happened often. You hated it.

“Baby,” he said softly, leading you to the bathroom, “Come on. Let’s get you a bath, okay.”

“Lights,” you manage. Your voice is still a growl, but it’s not angry. Clint isn’t worried. “Kill mode” is dangerous, but only if you’re the one provoking it. He flips the lights down and kisses your head, “Better?” he asks

“Yeah,” you answer, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. 

Clint let you sit and fussed with the water and added nice things. Enough to smell good and hopefully soothe you a little. He had no idea what was under your sink. What blend did what thing? Nothing was labeled. All the potions looked the same. So he tried to stick to something that smelled like lavender. That was soothing, right?

“Alright, pretty girl,” he hums, “Let’s get you in the water.” The gross boy parts of his brain are acutely aware that he’ll be seeing you naked, but he slaps the back of his hand quickly. Oogle later. Fix now. You were holding yourself very tightly in control, and you needed to relax, or it was going to take forever for you to come down. “Can you do it yourself, or do you need help?” he asked softly, helping you out of your shoes.

“Don’t go,” you growl.

“Okay,” he soothed, “Okay. I’m here. I’m staying. I just wanted to know if you were okay with me seeing you.”

You nod, “You’ve seen me already.”

“That’s true,” he says, smiling, helping you to your feet. His hands are careful as he helps you out of your clothes. His touch is gentle but clinical. Concerned with getting you naked but not for any nefarious purpose. That accomplished, he helps you into the bath and kisses your head, stripping off his shirt.

“Don’t go,” you repeat, your voice less growl. 

“I’m not. I’m gonna come hold you,” he answers, taking off the rest of his clothes. You nod and your cheeks heat. “You can stare, I don’t mind,” he teases. leaning over to kiss your head, “But scoot up a little, baby.”

You do, and he tucks himself behind you, his legs alongside yours as he pulled you back against his chest. He smiles a little when you snuggle in. “That’s it, baby, just relax, okay? I’m here. You’re okay. Bucky’s still breathing. You didn’t do anything that can’t be undone. Just close your eyes and breathe.” Clint can feel some of the tension start to trickle away. The longer he holds you against him and grounds you to right now. Like usual, he doesn’t really know what to do. But he knows you, and he knows that you need someone. “Kiss me?” you murmur after a long time, looking up at him.

Clint smiles a little and cups your cheek, “Are you sure? You’re not gonna hex me, are you?”

“I just… I just wanna feel something else. All there is is a fog. Fog and the red haze.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He’s been dying for more than chaste kisses. Aching to show you what it could feel like to be loved like you should be. So he does, he cups the back of your head tenderly and pulls you closer, kissing you slowly. He wants this to be enough. Enough to drown out the darker nature that Bucky had finally drawn to the surface. The things that you kept subdued with… well. Clint wasn’t sure what. But He was willing to bet it was a lot of self-denial. Denying your wants. Denying your needs. But he doesn’t want you to deny this. You deserved this. You deserved love. And Comfort. Clint tries. He tries to keep things soft, but you’re insistent. Silently demanding more. Wanting to take what he was more than willing to give. Clint ached and brought a hand up to fondle your breasts, gratified with you sigh against his lips. He pulls away though and tangles his hand in your hair, “Listen to me,” he says, voice raw, “Baby. I’ll do anything you want. But only if you want it. Really want it.”

“Clint,” you pant, “I want you, please.”

“Please?” he chuckles, “Oh. Baby girl, you must be desperate.”

You whimper, and Clint nips your lip softly, “None of that baby,” he scolds lovingly, “Shh.”He resituates you on his lap gently and pulls you into another kiss that makes you burn, “Are you gonna be good for me?” he asks.

“I don’t-” you start, and he smiles a little. 

“Just relax,” he murmurs, slipping inside you gently, shivering at your soft little moan. “I’m gonna take care of my girl, we’re gonna take this slow, and you’re gonna come for me until you feel better.”

Clint smiles when you whimper again and rolls his hips up gently to make you gasp. “That’s it,” he murmured, “So pretty.” He reaches between you to stroke your clit and tuts softly, “So needy for me. Good.” He teases softly. Touching you and relishing the feel of your arching against him. Squirming on him. “I want you needy for me, baby,” he soothes, breathless, “Don’t be quiet. Let me hear from you.”

You roll your hips and hide your face in his neck, trembling. “I’m- Clint. I can’t.”

“Just let go, baby,” he says, touching you more insistently, “Let go for me, baby.” And you do. He keeps you coming, reveling the feel of your body against him. The walls of your sex around him and the sounds of your panting and soft cries. 

He lets himself follow you and holds you to him, cuddling you gently, careful to bring you down. Keep you from being reminded of your time with Bucky. You’re crying now that your head is clearing, and Clint pulled you closer. “Shh,” he soothed, “You’re okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

You snuggle close, snuffling, and he smiles, “Let’s get you dried off, okay?” he coaxed. He shifts you over gently and gets out, wrapping a towel around his waist and holding out another to you. You go to him feeling exposed. Exposed but glad that Clint is here to hold on to. 

“You did so good for me,” he praises, kissing your nose.

“You’re not mad?” you ask.

“No, sweetheart,” he soothes, “I’m not gonna be mad at you for wanting to have sex with me… I thought I was gonna go blind too for a minute… And I’m disappointed in my imagination. You feel better than I thought.”

It takes a second, but you giggle, and he hugs you a little tighter. He Dries your skin lovingly and carries you to your bed, tucking you in carefully. “I’m naked,” you protest sleepily.

“You are,” he agrees, tucking blankets around you and nuzzling your neck, tickling you. “I’m glad about that,” he teases, “I like having you all warm and naked. Smelling like all your fancy bath stuff.” He kisses your hair and lets you snuggle into his arms. “That’s good, Cupcake,” he says, “giving me everything I ever wanted right now, you know that?”

You murmur wordlessly for a second and kiss his chest, “I love you.”

He chuckles and strokes your hair, “I love you, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he scolds, “You’re okay. Trust me, baby. Just rest now, okay?”

He looks down when you don’t answer, and you’re asleep. Fast asleep nuzzled into his chest. It makes him happy in a way he can’t quite describe. He’d glad you’re here. That you feel safe enough to sleep. That you managed to do some damage to Bucky. That was something he was going to treasure well into his old age, honestly. Your snarl and the insistence that you weren’t gonna be his plaything again. It was perfection. Kill mode and the fall out notwithstanding, it was terrific. And he was proud. He doesn’t want to leave. He really doesn’t. 

But there’s a knock on the door, and he can hear Steve and Natasha outside. He’s reluctant, but he rustles around until he finds a pair of pants and goes to the door. “What?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What happened between Y/N and Bucky, Clint?” Steve asked levelly, “We need to know.”

Clint glances anxiously back towards the bed and steps into the hall, shutting the door, “Look,” he says, “She’s really reluctant to talk about it.”

“But he did something?” Natasha pressed.

“Several somethings,” Clint said, scowling. 

Steve nodded, “I need-”

“No,” Clint said steadily, “You’re gonna let her sleep. Let her come down all the way.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded, “When she wakes up,”

“Again, no,” Clint said, “I’m not gonna let you order her to tell you about all this. She tried to leave to avoid exactly this.”

Natasha nodded, “Was she trying to protect him?”

“Herself,” Clint said after a moment. 

The spy nodded, “She’s okay?”

“As okay as she can be after she almost killed someone.” Clint allowed.

“Would she have killed him?” Steve asked.

“If she didn’t, I would have.” Clint said, and left them both standing in the hall to go back to you.


	13. Chapter 13

In the morning, when you come downstairs to eat breakfast wearing one of Clint’s hoodies and a pair of leggings, no one says anything about the day before. Thor kisses your cheek, and so does Bruce. 

Sam can’t quite look you in the face. Yesterday had been terrifying. Even after Thor had pulled him aside and quietly explained what had been done to you all those years before. You give him a shy smile, and Sam flinches away from you. That hurts, and you look away quickly. You get your coffee and a pastry and slip out quietly, going to find somewhere to curl up and ease into your day.

You’re just about to take a bite of your donut when Steve finds you. And it takes effort not to roll your eyes.

“Hey,” Steve says, approaching slowly.

“Hey,” you answer, taking a sip of your coffee. He takes a seat and looks you over slowly, folding his hands.

“You okay?” he asks. You nod and shrug. 

“How’s Bucky?” you counter, and Steve doesn’t miss that you sound detached. Not for the first time, Steve wonders how much you really remember about what happens when you’re in kill mode. 

“Breathing,” Steve said, smiling a little, “You managed to scare the shit out of him. But he wasn’t close to death or anything.”

You nod, “That’s good. I don’t THINK I actually wanted him dead. Just to leave me alone.”

“What’d he do?” Steve asked, seriously.

“Enough,” you answer, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Y/N,” he pressed, “Help me understand this. Please? Bucky told me you’re crazy. That he turned you down and now you’re just pissed off at him. But. I know you.”

“He did, in fact, turn me down, months ago,” you snort, “But that wasn’t where it stopped.”

Steve gestured for you to continue, and you sigh.

“Look. I don’t know why, but Bucky decided I needed to be punished apparently. I’m not going to go into detail, but he took my feelings for him, and he used them. After that, and all the fallout, I left. I had intended to stay gone. Just… just to make it easier on everyone. I didn’t want drama. I didn’t want to have people choosing sides. I just wanted it to be over.”

Steve’s heart drops, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Would you have heard me?” you counter, looking away. “The second I would have said anything, especially about the baby-”

“Baby?” Steve said slowly, a look of horror crossing his face. “Are you still-”

“No,” you tell him, taking a deep breath.

Steve nods, “Did you ever tell Bucky?”

“God no,” you laugh, “If he didn’t try to pressure me to make the choice he wanted, he might have just outright killed me.”

Steve wanted to protest. He wanted to say Bucky wouldn’t have done that, but… With what he’d gotten from Thor… or rather Bruce while Thor stood by and looked uncomfortable, and the few details you’d just given him. Well. He felt like gainsaying you was probably not fair. It had been hard for Steve to come to terms with this Bucky not being HIS Bucky any more after decades of torture. But it still rankled. He wanted this to not be true, but. You had no reason to lie. And he knew first hand how nice you had tried to be to Bucky. How much you’d done to try and make him feel welcome. 

He should have realized you had a crush. And he should have kept an eye on Bucky. But he hadn’t. And he didn’t. And it had led you here.

“How- I mean-” Steve doesn’t know how to ask how you’re feeling. He doesn’t know how to apologize. All he can do is stammer at you and turn red.

“I’m okay, Steve,” you answer softly. “He- he took things from me that I can’t get back but. I’m okay. I’m here. And I made the best choice for me at the time. Even if it meant hurting all your feelings when it came to a boil. I knew that if I ran around talking about it, everyone would be so busy telling me what to do or what I needed, no one would hear what I had to say.”

Steve watches you sip coffee and sighs, “I’d like to tell you you’re wrong, but… I probably would have been buying a baby-sized Baseball cap. So.”

You snort, “I know you guys all think I’m a baby. But… I survived. I survived everything they did to me. And everything before then. I’ve fought gods and monsters right next to you. What do I have to do to prove that I’m strong enough?”

The Super Soldier looked at you and blinked slowly. It caught him off guard sometimes. The old soul that peered out of you from time to time. Weathered and beaten. Something he could recognize. He got caught up sometimes, in your sweetness. The youthful exuberance, as you demanded that everyone come with you to the zoo. Your joy at sparkly makeup and the sound of the music you played as you baked cookies that looked like pinatas. You basked in the brightness. You delighted in things that made you happy. Any little thing that made you happy. It was how you coped. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not the one who owes me an apology,” you say quietly. 

“I know,” Steve said, nodding at Clint, who had found his way to you, Lucky at his heels.

You slip Lucky your last bite of the doughnut and kiss his nose, fondly, “Good morning, handsome.”

“Oh sure, kiss him hello,” Clint drawled without any real heat, handing you another cup of coffee and kissing your head.

You look up at him and smile, “His morning breath isn’t as gnarly.”

He rolled his eyes and sat on the arm of your chair; Steve smiled a little. It was cute. Grotesquely cute when you tucked yourself into his side and Lucky laid his head on your lap for pets. It was a little glimpse into some domesticity and you glowed. A soft kind of warmth that made him feel better. At the very least, you were healing. You were healing and Clint had only the best of intentions.

__________

Bucky sat with his feet on his desk cleaning his gun and Natasha leaned on the door and watched him for a second. You’d given her more details than you had given Steve. More mindful of Steve’s feelings for Bucky. And the spy was furious. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked. Her voice was calm and that’s what had Bucky startled.

“If this is about Y/N,” Bucky started.

“Of course it is you fucking asshole!” she said slamming the door shut.

“What do you care?” he countered.

“What do I care? Why wouldn’t I care?” she laughed bitterly, “This is Y/N we’re talking about. Do you know what they had to do to her to make her what she is?”

Bucky bolted to his feet, “What they did to her?” he barked, “They fucking babied her. They treated her like a kid. What’d they fucking do to her again?”

Natasha’s eyes widened in understanding, “You resent her,” she said, “You did all this just to make her suffer because you don’t think she suffered enough?”

“She didn’t!” he growls, “I spent literal decades in hell. And for what?”

Natasha sighed and threw a file on his desk, “You think she got off easy?” she laughed, “You think you’ve got a monopoly on torment? You wanna know why they didn’t have to break her? She was already broken, Barnes.” Natasha doesn’t say another word and walked out of the room. Afraid that if she stayed she’d hurt him. Hurt him a lot.

___________________

Clint ducked out of the way of your staff and grinned, “Gotta be quicker than that,” he teases.

“Just gotta wait for you to slow down,” you say calmly, sliding back as he swings his sword at you. 

“I can go all night, baby,” he says, winking.

“We’ll see,” you answer, disarming him neatly, “Does that one count towards my tally or no?”

Clint looked towards his sword, well out of reach and took a moment to admire your cleavage where you had him pinned to the mats, “I’ll allow it,” he said enjoying the view your tanktop afforded. He’d like to lean up and nuzzle the soft skin. He really wanted to. But. There were rookies watching and he was supposed to be showing them how to repel magical attacks. You notice him staring and quirk an eyebrow, making him wink at you. 

“Douchebag,” you murmur, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” he says, giving you a look that makes you blush, even as you’re trying not to giggle.


	14. Chapter 14

Don’t fall,” Clint called up, a laugh threatening.

“Shh,” you tell him, holding up a hand, edging closer to the edge of the branch, “I can see it.”

“Are they taking the hobbits to Isengard?” Tony drawls. 

“I thought I was Legolas?” Clint snorted.

“She’s white-blonde right now,” Tony said.

“Shut up,” you hiss, “You’re scaring her!”

Clint gets quiet, getting anxious as you edge steadily closer to the little black cat shivering on the branch. He’s obviously a house kitty. One that isn’t meant to be outside. One that was running from the big scary metal man. He can’t hear you, but he knows what you sound like. The gentle voice coaxing her closer with an offering of some lunch meat. 

You coax her gently, and she creeps closer, taking the offered tidbits. Clint isn’t sure if it’s the treats or you that draws her in, but, as you cradle her carefully in one arm and climb down, he doesn’t really care.

All he knows is that when you look up at him with big eyes and a sweet smile, asking if you can keep her, Tony can’t tell you no.

You cuddle her happily and beam up at both of them, and Tony doesn’t bother to hide his amusement when Clint visibly softens. “God,” he snorts, “You’re really a goner. You don’t even like cats.”

“I’m gonna like that one,” he laughs, “ ‘specially if it gets me my damn dog back.” You’re telling Lucky to be helpful to the new ‘baby’ and asking if he wanted to share his bed or if they needed to get a new one. 

Honestly, Clint didn’t care that Lucky liked you so much. It was sweet. And he wanted coming home from missions to his girl and his dog both waiting to smother him in love. And he liked Racing with Lucky to be the first one to give you welcome home kisses. 

“You’re getting lame, Barton,” Tony said, shaking his head, “Are you sure she didn’t slip you a love potion?”

“The bigger question is, do I care if she did it?” He strolled across the grass to follow you. He sensed a trip to the store in his future. And that was always a treat. Even if it meant treating you to ice cream. He didn’t expect to see you frozen in the lobby. Feet rooted to the spot, looking both horrified and hopeful. To stunned to even cry.

There are a middle-aged woman and another middle-aged man. Both looking around in a state of awe. Thor is hovering nearby, looking apprehensive. You look from him to the couple feeling like you can’t breathe, “Thor, what the fuck?”

“They were insistent that they knew you, Lady,” he says tentatively. 

“They did, once,” you answer, taking a step backward reflexively.

“We saw you one the news,” The woman said, reaching forward.

Thor situates himself between you and them calmly, insinuating himself to keep them from starting towards you. Clint puts an arm around your shoulder gently, “Baby,” he murmurs, “You don’t have to do this now.” 

He doesn’t know who these people are, but he knows you. He knows that you’re incredibly confused and upset. “Sweetheart,” the woman says, “I missed you so much. Please.”

“Then why did you tell everyone I was dead?” you say softly, your voice dangerous. The only thing keeping you calm is the kitten in your arm, who’s already scared. 

“Y/N, be reasonable,” the man says, his voice oily. Reminding Clint of a used car salesman or a B- tier villain on a Saturday morning cartoon.

“You,” Clint says, taking a step forward, “Aren’t going to talk to her.” Something about this man just… it triggers him. It’s the way he casually dismisses your upset. The way he looks at you as prey. The way you shivered when he spoke. The way you’re trying not to show emotion. Shut down. Going into the survival mode that kept you alive. He hates it. He hates that man. And he isn’t going to talk to you. He doesn’t deserve to talk to you.

“Young man,-” he starts, puffing himself up. But nothing could stop the forward momentum of Clint’s fist. It connected with the man’s jaw and sent him sprawling. You gasped, having some sort of silent panic attack. Not sure who to help or what to do, and you sink to the floor in a complete state of overload. The man, Stirling, Clint Recalls. Stirling Cole. Your stepfather hauled himself slowly into a sitting position with the help of your mother and gave you a look. A look that clearly suggested that even though you hadn’t hit him, it was all your fault that he’d been laid out. 

“Harlot,” he spat, “Whore. Repent now before it’s too la-”

Thor hauled him to his feet with a growl, “The Lady is just that. A Lady. You will speak to her as such, or I will ensure you never speak again by cutting your miserable tongue from your head.”

It’s all a blur for you. Security. The boys stepping to your defense. Tony Stepping into disaster management mode. All you can focus on is the tiny cat in your arms. She’s so small and fluffy. Her big gold eyes and fluffy tail make you happy. And she’s currently looking up at you with confusion. “It’s okay, baby,” you soothe, introducing her quietly to Lucky, “Lucky is a good boy. Hims, a perfect boy. He’ll show you who to beg treats from.”

Clint stays close until they’re gone. Arms folded. He’ll gladly play muscle to give you some time to process. Or decide not to process, wherever you are with things right now. But when they’re escorted out, and Clint turns around, his heart unclenches slowly.

Lucky is lying on his belly, legs splayed out, and his head on your lap as his tail wiggled his bottom, and the Kitten, as yet unnamed, is creeping forward to investigate the large yellow dog that is desperately trying to be her friend. He kneels down in front of you and tilts your chin up gently, “You okay?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know,” you answer quietly.

“Well,” he says gently, cupping your cheek in his hand, “Lets load up the kids and go to town, huh?”

“Okay,” you murmur, kissing his palm when you turn your head. 

“Our new baby needs stuff… And Lucky probably needs some things to chew so he doesn’t think we love him less.” He gives you a crooked smile and kisses your nose, feeling a little better when you give him an uncertain smile. He helps you to your feet and you stop in front of Thor.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly. 

Thor bends down and kisses your cheek, not really sure what to say and gives Clint a nod of approval. The Archer had stepped in and it had given Thor a little bit more context. He was, justly, very protective of his lady and any perceived threat was met with quick action. Particularly when it was a threat to the state of her heart. 

He watched Clint escort you to the motor pool. An arm around your shoulder on one side and his faithful hound sticking close to your other side. The both of them trying in their bumbling way to bring you back to yourself. To remind you that they love you.


	15. Chapter 15

Clint watched as you wandered down the aisles, Lucky at your heels and the kitten, newly dubbed “Jinx” lounging in your arms, a new collar, and a shiny pink bell and tag around her neck. He’d been relegated to pushing the cart, now full of cat toys, food, litter, a cat tree… everything you could possibly need to make a little Kitten heaven in your room. And he wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe, just maybe, he might be wholly whipped.

Not that he minded that either as you let Lucky pick out a new toy and picked up a fresh hunk of antler for him to gnaw on. You had a way of making things just… bright. It felt good, and he was glad that the episode earlier hadn’t seemed to be pressing on you. At least not. Not right now while you had things to do and a new creature to spoil. But he knew it was coming. The processing of it all.

And he didn’t want to.

He wanted this to last as long as it could. He wanted you to have this because it meant he got to have this. This uncomplicated moment. He was good at these. The uncomplicated domestic bliss. Buying for a new pet. Indulging your little whims. Doing and saying things that make you giggle. 

But in the dark. In the moments when you’re hurting and scared. In the moments where you can’t seem to find your sunshine again. That’s what he hates. He feels awkward and wrong-footed. Afraid he’s going to hurt you more by blundering around. Not, he reflected, that he seemed to be doing too bad. He knew that much like the rest of the team, he had a tendency to baby you. To coddle you. And even if he knew it wasn’t necessarily needed, he couldn’t help it. He wanted you to stay soft like you were. 

And as he watched Lucky lick your nose as you scrunched his ears, he decided there were worse things than coddling you.

____________

In the darkness of his bedroom, he pulled you closer tenderly and shifted slightly so you could rest your head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe you punched my stepdad in the face,” you murmur.

Clint laughed softly and tilted your chin up, kissing you, “I can,” he says. “You looked terrified, and then when he talked to you… No one talks to my Cupcake like that.”

You look away, and the archer takes advantage of your position to pin you to the bed, wrists above your head, “No one,” he insists, kissing you again. It’s a slower, lingering kiss that makes you whimper softly in need. He smiles against your lips and lets go of your hands, “Again?” he teases. 

“Please?” you whisper.

“So needy,” he chuckled, letting go of your hands to sit up and admire you for a second, looking up at him like you are now. He loves this moment. The desire and the adoration. 

“Clint,” you pout, without any real whining, trying not to smile. It hadn’t taken him long to convince you to come to bed. To let him give you his love. And it had taken less time than that for you to look forward to it, even if you still had occasional pangs of guilt. 

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” he said, playfully wrestling you to the bed on your belly. “If I had my way, you’d never wear clothes, and I’d never not be loving you.”

He hisses when you wiggle your bottom against his erection and slaps the soft flesh. Playfully scolding you. “You’re not ready yet,” he explains when you yelp.

“But-”

“Not until I hear you beg, babe,” he teases, gently caressing your folds with his index finger, “I’m not just a pretty face, you know… I like to feel appreciated.”

__________

Downstairs in the bar, Bucky pours himself a drink. It won’t get him drunk, he knows, but something has to get the picture out of his head. 

Clint putting you on the tabletop on a picnic table outside and sticking his tongue down your throat while one hand tangles in your hair, and the other creeps up your thigh under your skirt.

He didn’t even get all the way up your skirt before stopping to caress the skin of your inner thigh and make you squirm. His hand pulling your head back so he could kiss your throat. It wasn’t even terribly graphic. Not much more than some intense making out, but it felt like more. 

You looked up at him in ways you’d never looked at Bucky. With Bucky, you’d been shy to the point of making him want to grind his teeth. It had been maddening, coaxing you out of your clothes to get into his bed. But you looked up at Clint like he was everything. Even while the archer was getting a little rough with you. Even though he was pushing your buttons in the open. Where anyone could walk by and see. 

To Clint’s credit, he stopped before your tits were out. And he wasn’t doing anything that couldn’t be undone quickly. But it was the principle of the thing. Bucky had seen in, and he wished he hadn’t. Because now he couldn’t unsee it. And he wanted it. 

He was tired of models and superficial nonsense. 

Tired of influencers and centerfolds. He wanted someone to look up at him the way you were looking at Clint. 

He wanted you to look up at him like that.

And he hated himself for it. He hated that he read the file that Natasha had handed him. That he knew now the insidious things that HYDRA/SHIELD had done to you. Letting you marinate for three years in the worst foster homes they could manipulate you into. Making sure you had nothing and no one so that when they presented you with Peggy, who gave you tea and a little kindness. Offering you safety instead of jail time for things you’d done to survive. You would take it. Without question. 

You would do. Whatever they said. Without question. Unwavering loyalty to SHIELD, and they never once had to electrocute you. They indoctrinated you by manufacturing an environment where you were unlovable. By reinforcing to you what your family had done. And then gaslighting you when you tried to tell them things that had happened. 

He didn’t want to know that. 

Because now you were a person. Now he couldn’t even be mad at you for trying to kill him that day. 

In the hall when he’d told you that it had been a test. That he had feelings for you. Trying to toy with your emotions. Trying to convince you that you misunderstood him. When he kissed you. He should have known something was wrong when you didn’t melt into his touch. But. He never expected to be thrown backward and then to have you pinning him to the ground, trying to crush his windpipe with your staff, snarling and eyes glowing.

You’d been feral. And Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if it ever got a little extra rowdy in your bedroom. And if Clint could keep up with you.


	16. Chapter 16

“Clint!”

From across the hangar, he hears you call his name and turn to see you, hair still damp from the shower, dressed in basketball shorts and one of his t-shirts. He grins and holds his arms out to catch you, chuckling against your lips when you wrap yourself around him like a lemur on a branch. 

He returns the kisses and cuddles you. His body aches after an extended mission, but. This moment, right here. His girl and his dog waiting up to welcome him home is something he’d never miss. He shifts your weight a little and kisses the side of your neck when you nuzzle his shoulder. Once he can hold you with one arm for a second, he reaches down to rub Lucky’s ears fondly. 

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs, patting your leg to get you to let go. Or at least put your legs down. He doesn’t want to drop you. 

You loosen your grip a little and put your feet down. “I missed you,” you murmur, tilting his chin to look at the cut above his eye. Around you, the rest of the mission team is finding their lovers or just hanging out, getting ready to go get a shower and some sleep. But you hardly notice. All that matters is that Clint is back and he in… more or less one piece. 

He grins and turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand. “Yeah?” he teases, “You didn’t get bored with me while I was gone?”

You scowl at him, and he kisses you again, “Kidding,” he soothes, “I know you’d never do that.”

Your face softens a little, and you stand on your toes to kiss him better, “Just as long as you know.”

“Too bad you already took a shower,” Clint murmurs, heart singing when you bite your lip to keep from giggling. 

Behind the pair of you, the rest of the team is watching discreetly. For them, your relationship is something of a spectacle. It’s cute. And mostly uncomplicated. And really, they’re thrilled the two of you have each other. But it is grotesquely cute, the way the whole world stops mattering for just a minute. It’s like something out of a daydream. Bruce shakes his head and stands on his toes to kiss Thor’s jaw, “Kids,” he snorted. 

Thor grinned. He’s got a soft spot for cute love stories. He loves this. He loves seeing you happy. With someone worth of the heart you placed in their hands. And the Archer, as he lopes along next to you, his arm around your shoulder, fits the bill. Natasha and Steve both snorted, “He wouldn’t shut up the whole way home,” Nat said, rolling her eyes. 

She was similarly thrilled for her friends. Glad that you’d both found something you needed. But she didn’t miss that Bucky hadn’t so much as looked at either of you. She had this sense. In the pit of her stomach that something, somewhere, was about to go stupid.

Steve smiled a little, “He’s a goner,” he said, “Do we have a betting pool on when he’s gonna try and pop the question?”

Bruce chuckled, “If he ever does. I’d bet on him chickening out and getting Lucky to do it first.”

_______________

Back in your room, Clint is starting to feel more of the aches. The adrenaline is wearing off. And the high of having you pressed against him after two weeks without touching you. He can hear your rattling around in the bathroom, getting the shower hot for him, and putting out things for him to use. Potions and fancy soaps. Things that he had no idea about but, they helped with the pain and smelled delicious. 

Once you get him in the shower, putting him under the hot water and applying your self to taking care of him, he relaxes into your touch.

Low groans and soft sighs as you take care of him. Looking for little cuts and tight muscles. And taking a minute to just… admire him. Years of training had made him a gift to look at. Rippling, lithe muscle and arms to die for. You pressed soft kisses into his skin. Wet, hungry kisses that made him groan for entirely different reasons.

“So needy,” he complained, teasing you lovingly. “I just got home, and you wanna put me to work.”

You pout, trying not to giggle, and he grins. 

The truth was, he loved it. Your sex drive was excellent, and he’d never dream of stifling things. Not now that he has you comfortable enough to not only enjoy participating but start something when you wanted them. He’s actually pretty proud of himself for that. A pretty girl should enjoy things happening in her bedroom as frequently as she wants, as far as he’s concerned.

So, when he pins you to the wall of the shower to have his way with you, he does it willingly. Finding all the little spots that make you breathless. Or make you giggle. In the back of his mind, he knows he could have put you in your bed. It wouldn’t be as strenuous. But he’s been expanding your horizons just a little bit. Introducing new feelings and some new positions a low at a time. And this was one he thought you might like. And as you came apart for him, he was pretty sure he was right. 

And he was really thankful for seemingly endless hot water as he clutched you to him. 

“Good girl,” he praised grinning. And when you look up at him with a shy smile, he kisses your nose. 

“God,” he murmurs, “I hate leaving but… I really love coming home.”

You giggle, and he reached over to shut off the water, wrapping a towel around you and then one around his waist. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him again.

“Oh?”

You nod, “It’s too quiet here at night.”

Clint smiles a little, “Well. I’m sure my snoring will keep you company.”

“Probably,” you say, grinning, “Between you and Jinx, I think Lucky and I are the only ones that don’t snore.”


	17. Chapter 17

"Babe, you okay?" Clint said, toweling off his hair and padding over to your makeup table where you're sitting and looking a little lost. 

"Yeah," you answer. You sound dejected. And not okay. But Clint knows better than to pry. Sometimes, you have to feel on your own before you can tell him about them. And after dodging your parents all week, he isn't surprised you're reluctant to go out tonight. 

He crosses the floor and sits at your vanity next to you, "So," he asks, amused, "What makeup look are we going for tonight? Emo moppet or Ethereal Fairy?"

You half shrug, "I was thinking sparkly Alien."

"Ooo," he teases, giving you a nudge and a wink, "Switching it up on me? I'm gonna be thinking I'm getting some strange when we get home."

You snort and lean against his side for a second, wanting some comfort. A little adoration. Some semblance of "okay." Clint obliges, pulling you closer. "Baby," he murmurs, "We don't have to go out tonight if you don't want to."

"But I can't hide here forever," you point out. 

Clint smiles, "You can if you want to. No one would judge you... Stirling is a gross person. What kinda person tries to picket a building full of superheroes?"

"You're all unclean, dealing with me," you murmur, looking away. Your face heats and Clint won't let you pull away. There's been a lot of reflexive shame. A lot of struggling. 

Clint snorted bitterly, "If they really believe that, then why are they trying to reach out?"

You shrug, "I'm recognizable now. I'm not their "missing" kid anymore... People are probably calling Stirling's ministry into question. Primarily since he built it on the back of "saving" kids because he couldn't "save" me."

"That's bullshit," he hissed.

You nod and take a deep breath, "Yeah. But now they expect me to swoop in and save the family ministry... denounce my evil ways. Whatever that means."

Clint smiles a little, "Well, I hope you don't. I kinda like them."

You laugh and kiss his jaw, "Horn dog," you scold, without any real heat. 

"Well, yeah," he said unrepentantly. You roll your eyes and start fussing with your makeup. He watches for a moment. He likes the transformation. It reminds him irresistibly of you getting ready for battle. It's methodical. Crisp and precise. But tonight he doesn't stay to watch you do the whole thing. He dresses and slips out, going to look for Steve.

"Hey Cap," he called, leaning on the doorframe of the kitchen. 

"Yeah?" he asked, stirring a cup of coffee. 

"Is there anything we can do to keep the picketers from harassing Y/N?"

"Legally?" Steve asked.

"Sure," Clint said.

"Not a fucking thing," Steve said, his mouth screwing up in distaste. "They filed all their permits with the city and as long as no one puts hands on her? There's nothing we can do... Legally."

Steve watched the wheels turning in Clint's head and sighed, "Look," Steve said hurriedly, "I don't like it either." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Y/N is a good girl. She's not... She's not any of the things they're calling her. For god's sake. She knits and bakes cookies. She's in bed by 11 and... well. She's a good girl. A sweet kid. She doesn't deserve this, but... The harder we fight it, the worse it's going to look like we have something to hide. And that... That's just gonna whip people into a bigger frenzy. Gain more attention."

Clint frowned, "She's afraid to leave to go out, Steve," he protested. 

Steve exhaled slowly, "I know," he groaned, "Nat's been up my ass about it too... Look. Legally? There's nothing I can do. Nothing I can be SEEN to do."

"So, if I do something..." Clint pressed.

"This conversation never happened," Steve said firmly. 

Clint smirked, and Steve said a prayer. A small prayer that whatever the archer did, at the very least, wouldn't lead to maiming. 

_________

Clint smiled when you stepped out of the elevator and whistled softly. "Sparkly Space Alien" was indeed a look. Your outfit was art. And so was your face. You were almost completely unrecognizable. At least. You would be to people that had pretended you were dead for over a decade. He steals a soft kiss and brushes and errant lock of hair out of your eyes, "You're so out of my league."

"It's fine, you make me laugh," you answer, snuggling against his chest and sliding your arms inside his jacket around his waist to be closer to him.

"Is that all?" he askes, feigning hurt.

"Sometimes you open jars," you quip, smiling up at him.

"Damn right, I do," he rumbles, "Especially after you loosen 'em up for me."

You smudge a kiss against his jaw, happy to be close to him. And in a way, glad that he isn't intimidated. That you can still tease him. That it still feels right snuggling into his arms to get warm. Or just for a cuddle because you're touch starved. You're also glad that he doesn't care if he finds you cuddled up with Thor. Or Bruce. Or both of them when he has to be away. Platonic cuddle piles had always been a thing, and Clint was okay with it. Though he liked being the first person you went to for comfort. 

Bucky leans on the pool table, scowling to himself as he cleans his nails. It's grotesquely cute. The way Clint folds you into his arms and coddles you. Giving you a moment to hide against his chest. The way you look up at him. Big bright eyes and glitter-dusted cheeks. Discordant looks. Clint's grey sweatshirt jacket and jeans. Your pop/punk/glitter alien nonsense. You look like you stepped out of a magazine and Clint? That boy looks like it's laundry day. Like he just threw on the last handful of clean clothes that he had. And not for the first time, as the protesters outside the tower start singing. As they settle in to start their candlelit vigil or whatever, Bucky wonders what the fuck Clint is actually going to do about this. Bucky also wonders why any of the people out there give a fuck if you can Abracadabra your way out of a mess. But as you walk by with Clint, tucked happily into his side, giggling at whatever he'd just said, bucky itches to snatch you off his arm and remind Clint that he'd had you first. That he'd been the first one to pin you to a bed. 

He'd seen the permissive way that Clint acted with you. The way he didn't bat an eye at you lying on the couch with people that weren't him. The way someone else casually kissing your cheek or picking you up to move you out of the road didn't phase him. He never so much as blinked at anyone, just swinging you off your feet. Like last week when the Hulk fucking took you and picked you up like a doll. Setting you on his shoulder while he scaled a goddamn building. All Clint had had to say was, "Aww man, why's he never do that for me? I gotta monkey fuck my own way up to a ledge."

"Hawkeye, not as cute to look at," Hulk chuckled, "No, make me cookies."

"Oh, come on!" Clint protested, "I taught you how to cha-cha slide."

"She teaches me how to Cupid Shuffle," Hulk answered, smirking. 

"Damn it!" Clint said, snapping, "Outfoxed again."

Nothing phased him. Nothing bothered him. He didn't even care if you had to flirt with someone for a mission. And Bucky thought that was ridiculous. If, he thought, mentally shaking his head and correcting himself. No, When you were his girl, that kind of thing wasn't gonna happen. You were gonna behave. You were gonna keep your hands to yourself.

_________

In the bar, you lean against Bruce and sigh, "Not gonna lie, I feel a little overdressed."

"You are a bit," he says fondly, brushing glitter off his arm where you'd leaned on him. "Still dodging protestors?" 

You nod and sigh, "Luckily, all the news tends to publicize is the pictures of me sweating a covered in blood or various viscera."

Bruce winced sympathetically and smiled a little, "I'm sorry, Y/N," he says, "If it helps, they can't do this forever."

"No," you agree, "But they can do it as long as Stirling's little cult keeps sending him money."

"That's gross," Bruce said.

"Tell me about it," you answer, taking a sip from your glass.

"My Lady," Thor ventured, "How did your mother find herself with this man? He doesn't seem to have any affection for you."

You shrug, "Being a single mom is hard, Thor," you answer. "Being a single mom with a checkered past is harder... so when Mama found Jesus, she found Stirling."

Thor nodded, frowning, "And then?" he pressed.

"And then... He became our new normal. He had money you know? And once they got married mama didn't have to work 16 hour days to keep food on the table. So. It didn't really matter if he said dinosaurs were the work of the devil. Or that everything we read or watched had to be "approved" to keep our minds pure. And it was... okay. Until I was 12."

Bruce made a soft, sympathetic noise and signaled for you to be given another drink. "That's when you got your powers, right?" he asked.

"Got my period and my powers at the same time... Worst fucking birthday ever," you grouse, "And I'm still shitty about it."

Thor smiles a little and sips from his glass, "That- yes, that would be bullshit."

You nod, "Not too long after that, Stirling put me and the bag my mama packed on a greyhound and shipped my ass to California... Figured no one would look for me there... Then they waited a few months, buried an empty casket, and spent over a decade cashing in all that sweet, sweet sympathy."

Bruce kissed the side of your head and sighed, "That's... That's a mess."

You nod, "Yeah. But at least I learned how to dress."

"That's true," Bruce said, laughing. You might be overdressed right now, but at least you weren't rocking unironic fanny packs messy, shapeless clothing. Your clothes actually fit you, and you looked comfortable. They all looked like lizard people who were struggling to figure out how their skin suits worked. 

"Say the word, my lady," Thor declared, raising his tankard, "And I will smite them!"

"No, smiting!" Tony yelled from across the bar, "Absolutely not!"

"He's talking about the protestors!" Bruce called back.

"Oh. Shit. Yeah. I'll help!" he says, throwing back a shot. 

You roll your eyes, "Easy boys," you caution, "Don't underestimate the power of zealots... Just... All we have to do is wait. Stirling's built himself a house of cards. And he's one stiff breeze away from losing it all."


	18. Chapter 18

Clint froze a mug of coffee halfway to his mouth and blinked. He was reasonably sure that all the blood had just rushed out of his brain, and he was incredibly thankful for loose pants. 

“Damn,” he said softly, setting his mug down.

You were dressed to kill. Figuratively at least, though he didn’t doubt that under all the chiffon and boho jewelry, you probably could kill someone. That you weren’t the fairytale good witch confection, you looked like. But he couldn’t banish the tantalizing image of those clothes on the floor and nothing but your cloak to cover you. 

“Off to tempt some kids into a candy house?” Tony asked.

“If only,” you snort, “Gotta go do some council shit. Put in an appearance.” 

Thor nodded, “That does explain the outfit,” he said, smirking behind his mug. He was reasonably sure Barton had stopped being able to breathe. Or think. He had that reaction to you a lot. That sudden heart-stopping reaction. Often with outfits that were much less… fitted. Even things as mundane as sweatpants and stolen t-shirts. 

“Unfortunately,” you say, looking down at yourself in distaste, “Protocol has to be followed.” 

“I like this protocol,” Clint said, grinning.

“I’m sure,” you sigh, “But I feel like a clown.” Clint sets his coffee down and crosses the floor to you.

“You might feel like a clown, but you look like a whole meal,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. 

You snort, “I think you’re biased.”

“Maybe a little,” he admits, “But I’m pretty sure that doesn’t change the fact that I’d happily tear your clothes off and fuck you until you can’t walk.” He says this whispered into your ear. It makes your cheeks burn, and you bite your lip.

“Clint!” you gasp, scandalized.

“Not sorry,” he rumbled, brushing his thumb against your lips, “You look like a daydream.”

“I feel like a fucking nightmare,” you pout. 

“I’ll make it better when you get home,” he says, kissing the end of your nose.

“Promise?” you whine.

“I promise. Beer, Pizza, and bad movies… I’ll even have a hoodie for you to steal.”

You smile, “That- that sounds really good.”

“I know what my girl needs,” he says, giving you a cocky crooked smile. 

“Can it be your black hoodie?”

“Why would I give you anything else?” he asked, cheeks coloring when you kissed his jaw. “I know that one’s your favorite to steal.”

You smile, “And my rainbow socks?”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he says, grinning.

Clint lets you go gently and watches you go. He wishes he could go with you. Council meetings. Mostly because he really likes watching you be a badass. He loves you being bold and feisty… then having you come home and snuggle into his arms. It’s satisfying. He likes knowing that you have that safety and security with him. He wants that more than he knows how to explain properly. 

Still. If you were out for the day, he had time to kill. So he figured he’d get some time in, in the training room. If nothing else, if he just thought it’d keep him in shape… Not that you cared much about what he looked like. Or wore. As long as he brushed his teeth and took showers. And let you snuggle him whenever you wanted. And those were all terms he’d readily agree to. But… he also liked you drooling over him. 

He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that, at first he’d been afraid he wouldn’t measure up to whatever Bucky had done to you. That he didn’t have a few moments where he thought you might still have feelings. But, as time had gone on, especially after you had half choked the life out of Bucky, he didn’t really worry about that anymore.

At least until he saw what the other man looked like without a shirt on. Clint wasn’t attracted to men, but even he had to admit, Bucky was fucking ripped. Aided and abetted by almost super-soldier serum. He was inhumanly cut. And it rankled. Not, Clint told himself, because he’d had sex with you. But because the other man was strong enough that, had you not been willing, he could have made you do it anyway. And that bothered him.

So he tried to ignore Bucky as he started his work out. There was an uneasy truce for the sake of team harmony right now. Bucky left you alone, and the team let Bucky live. No one was happy with him right now, but, primarily due to your empathy, he got to participate. You were even passingly civil to him, something that just boggled Clint’s mind. But, in the spirit of that truce, even when you weren’t there, Clint was, if not Civil, quiet. 

He tried, at least. 

Until Bucky was staring at him. Blatantly fucking staring at him. “Do you have a problem, Barnes?”

“Just wondering how you like getting my sloppy seconds,” Bucky asked, smirking. 

Clint stood slowly, rocking back on his heels, “Funny,” he said, “I’ve never thought about it.”

“No?” Bucky challenged.

“Never really thought whatever you did to her counted,” Clint said, examining his nails. 

Bucky scoffed quietly and smirked, “Really? Cause we did a lot… Pretty sure I taught her that thing with her tongue you like. You’re welcome.”

Clint felt his jaw tighten, and he said a silent prayer that you’d stay out long enough for him to shower. The look Barnes was giving him made him feel gross. “Look,” Clint said, “The only reason you’re not in serious fucking trouble is that Y/N doesn’t consider what you did rape.”

The brunette jerked backward, “Rape?”

“You coerced her,” Clint said, “Even if she was willing to let you do it. You preyed on her feelings. You got her to have sex with you under false pretenses. You used those feelings. And you used her. You got her pregnant. And then you continued to act like a fucking dick.” By the end of it, he’s shouting. Red in the face, screaming at him, bringing Steve sprinting around the corner. 

Clint is standing there, panting. And one fact is bouncing around in Bucky’s brain. One that he hadn’t considered. 

Bucky’s three-week fling. His master plan. Had resulted in a child. One that you evidently hadn’t kept given the lack of change in your physique. 

Steve stops a few feet from the current standoff between his two sharpshooters. Clint is furious, and Bucky looks like Clint smacked him across the face. He only heard Clint shouting. Not what was said. But When Clint pushes his way past, too angry to speak, Steve lets him go. 

“Did you know?” Bucky rasped like he was having trouble breathing.

“Know about what?” Steve countered, guarded.

“About the baby,” Bucky growled.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Bucky yelled.

“Y/N told me,” Steve admitted.

“And you didn’t fucking tell me?”

“Not once she told me not to.”

Bucky turned and sunk his metal fist into the wall with a roar, “What the fuck happened to the end of the line, Steve?”

“The end of the line doesn’t include letting you hurt people, Buck,” Steve protested, “Whatever you think she deserves. Whatever price you wanted her to pay, she paid for it. And after what you did? You’re lucky I let you keep your fucking teeth.”

“I’m not a rapist!”

“You might not think so… but if you honestly feel good about what you did, what would you call it?” Steve spat. “Would you have wanted Becky done like that?”

And Bucky has no answer. He watches Steve walk out of the training room in slow motion. Everything sounds like it’s coming from underwater, and all he knows is he has to find you


	19. Chapter 19

When you stepped out of a portal, dripping wet and looking like an irritated cat, Thor chuckled, “Overshot your portal?”

“In case you were wondering, it’s raining in Ecuador,” you say, ringing out the end of your cloak.

“How do you hit Ecuador if you’re aiming for New York?” Tony asked. 

“I was just a little distracted,” you murmur, cheeks heating. 

“By what?” Bruce asked, handing you a towel.

“Long story,” you answer, turning away to take jewelry off and towel off your hair. You didn’t know how to explain that Bucky had sent you a really long, frankly incoherent wall of text messages vacillating between being apologetic and being fucking pissed that you’d gotten an abortion and not told him. 

You had wanted to know how he found out but, you had next to no interest in talking to Bucky. Not anything outside things for work. 

“Ew,” Tony said, “Barton sent you dick pics, didn’t he.”

“No, you freak,” you sigh, throwing the soaked towel at him. “Ugh, I’m gonna go take a shower.”

You turn and start towards the elevator, slipping past Steve with a small smile of hello. Steve looks at the water pooled on the floor and at your back, confused, and Thor laughs, “Evidently, it’s raining in Ecuador,” he says. 

“Ecuador?” he calls after you, laughing a little. 

“Barton sent a dick pic, and she got distracted,” Tony shouted, smirking when you flipped him off as the doors slid shut.

________

Clint sat on the couch, fussing with the pizza and the cold six-pack the coffee table. He had his black hoodie where you could find it in the closet and your rainbow socks neatly folded and lying next to a warm, freshly fluffed towel. Everything you asked him for. And he had a few more little things. A new book and a pretty dagger you’d had your eye on for a minute. 

Still, even with all of that in place, he felt a little sick. Like he’d just breached your trust when he’d blown up at Bucky. He didn’t like it. There had been no reason for him to blow up like that. None. Except for letting Bucky push his buttons. And the worst part was, he’d known it was happening. But hearing him gloat about having sex with you. Hearing how fucking smug he’d been after seeing how fucking shattered you’d been. Knowing he was proud of himself for taking something from you that you had a good reason to be keeping for yourself. He looked down at Lucky, gazing longingly at the box and smiles a little, “Let mom get her piece first, ya cretin,” he scolds fondly. Lucky swishes his tail and barks once, easing himself onto his hind legs to beg properly, prompting Jinx to do the same thing. “Animals, both of you,” he sighs, going to find their treats. 

He was about halfway to the counter, grumbling to himself when the door to the suite opened, and their current pizza lust was temporarily forgotten to get pets. Clint leaned on the table and smiled, watching you give kisses and pats. “Why are you wet?” he asked, amused.

“It’s raining in Ecuador,” you sigh.

“Overshot it, huh?” he teased.

“Yeah… but At least I didn’t end up in Antarctica again… I’m still pissed Steve wouldn’t let me keep the penguin.”

Clint chuckled and kissed you softly when you stood on your toes to lean over the counter, “Where would we have put it?”

“We have another bathtub!” you pout.

“Speaking of bathtubs,” he says, kissing your nose, “Why don’t you go get warmed up and then I’ll feed you and give you a beer.”

“But what about a shower beer?”

“You’re such a brat,” he groans, “I guess. If It’ll get you in the shower before the pizza gets cold.”

You smile and kiss his jaw, padding towards the bathroom, going to strip out of your wet clothes and find something warm and snuggly to put on. Clint waits until he hears the shower turn on and then brings you the requested beer before padding out to the living room to sulk until you came back. He knew he needed to tell you. He knew he needed to talk to you about it. But he just. He wanted a date night, He wanted to love his girl and forget that this day had happened. He felt like a dick. 

Worse than a dick.

He felt like a dildo. He wasn’t real enough to be a dick. Flirting with you and not just telling you the truth. 

Still, When you come back warm and soft. Wearing his black hoodie and your rainbow knee socks, snatching a fresh beer before wrapping yourself around him. He still can’t bring himself to talk about the day. “Hungry?” he asks, popping you on the bottom as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“But cuddle,” you murmur, hiding your face in his neck.

“Baby-” he protests lightly, but he stops when you tighten your grip. These aren’t just needy cuddles. These are “Clint is angry” cuddles. And you might not know why but you’ve managed to twist it around in your head to be all your fault. And you’re trying to fix it without knowing what you did. “Okay,” he soothes, “Shh, okay.” He rubs your back and kisses the side of his head.

“Are you mad at me?” He feels the question instead of hears it. Your lips against his neck and the tremble in a deep breath you took before asking. It’s such a soft whisper he can’t actually hear you. But he knows that question well. 

“No,” he murmurs, “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me.”

“What happened?” you ask, fingers toying with the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck, rubbing gently. 

“I- I fucked up today, babe. I fucked up really bad.”

“What, you murmur, “Get caught reading fanfic about yourself getting railed by Hulk?”

Clint snorted, “Worse- I think,” he tilts your chin up tenderly to look you in the face and sighed, “I- I blew up at Bucky today.”

Several emotions flit across your face. Confusion, understanding, hurt, and then… oddly amusement.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” your forehead thuds gently against his collarbone, and you sigh, “Clint, you dummy. That explains so fucking much.”

“Oh no,” Clint said, “What-”

“Bucky sent me this massive fucking text wall and yelled about the baby and kind of apologized but… didn’t then yelled at me some more and I spent like, all fucking day trying to figure out where he heard it from.”

“That’s gross,” Clint said, crinkling his nose, the knot in his stomach loosening a little when you weren’t angry. 

“Right?” you yelp, “Who the fuck yells at someone about that via text… fucking boomers.”

“Technically, he’s too old to be a boomer,” Clint says, brushing the hair out of your eyes. 

“Well, he acts like one… seriously. He used Emojis. Too many. Like Ew.”

Clint snorted, “And you’re okay?”

“I mean… yeah. Fuck him”

Clint grinned and smacked the swell of your ass again lovingly, “Yeah… But don’t fuck him. Fuck me a few times, and let me feed you pizza.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked me or something,” you tell him, stealing another kiss.

“Baby,” he hums, shifting you over gently and popping open the pizza box, “I don’t just like you. I love you.”

He hands you a plate and lets you tuck yourself against his side, “I love you too,” you tell him, beaming. “Can we watch Manos: Hands of Fate?”

“Anything you want, baby girl,” he chuckles. And as you settle in with your pizza and beer, Clint wonders just who exactly he had to blow in a past life to be this fucking happy.


	20. Chapter 20

When you came downstairs in the morning, still wearing your pilfered hoodie, the compound was in full swing. It was getting to be late in the morning, and almost everyone was waiting. Lurking to see if there was a trainwreck on their hands. 

By now, they’d all heard about Clint blowing up at Bucky. And that last piece of the puzzle they hadn’t all been privy to. 

That you and Bucky had had sex. And that had resulted in a baby. It was a bombshell for some of them honestly. And no one wondered about why you had run away anymore. But everyone wondered what Clint had said or done to get you to come back.

But, you don’t look like you and Clint had spent the night fighting. Thor smiles a little and breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not ostentatious, but you look well-loved. Happy. A soft contented glow that tells him that Clint had taken good care of you. And when Clint follows after you a few minutes later, Lucky on a leash and Jinx on his arm in her harness and leash, it doesn’t take any extra abilities to know that he’s still devoted. And that he’s similarly pleased with whatever transpired the night before.

When you take the cat from his arms and steal a kiss, the archer smiles, cupping your jaw in his hand affectionately. “Coffee?” he asks.

“That’d be good,” you answer, kissing his palm. 

“You take the kids,” he said, “I’ll bring cups, and we’ll go on a walk.”

You smile, and he visibly melts a little, “I’d hate to put you out,” you tease.

“Eh,” he says, “I’m okay with you being a brat. Because you’re my brat.”

“You’re stuck with me,” you agree, standing on your toes to kiss his jaw.

“I like the sound of that, baby girl,” he kisses you tenderly and hands you Lucky’s leash. The dog is prancing around your feet and anxious to be off. He lets you go, and Lucky half drags you out the door into the chilly morning, giggling and protesting. He watches for a second as you produce his beloved tennis ball from a jacket pocket and let him off his leash so he could run. Jinx curled on a sunspot, watching with her judgemental golden eyes.

“Well,” Steve said, “It looks like you’re not any worse for wear.”

“Nope,” Clint said, “I thought I was gonna be in trouble.”

“You shoulda been,” Bruce scolded, handing him a couple travel coffee cups for the coffee he’s making.

“Got a pen?” Clint asked, looking around. And picking up a coffee collar out of the basket.

“Did you hear me?” Bruce asked, handing him a pen.

“Yes, mom. I did. But we talked about it. I apologized for being a fucking idiot, and-” he trailed off started frantically writing on the coffee collar.

“And?” Bruce prompted.

“And I wrote her a poem,” he said, grinning.

Tony stood on his toes and looked over his shoulder, “Roses are red, the grass is green when I think about you, I touch my peen?” He rolled his eyes and sighed, “Classy, Barton. And this really works for you?”

“It makes her laugh,” he said, shrugging, putting coffee in your mug and handing Bruce his pen back.

“I can’t believe you wasted ink on that,” Bruce sighed, putting his pen back in his pocket. 

“Hey,” he said unrepentantly, “She’s out of my fucking league, but I’ll happily be the Roger Rabbit to her Jessica.” He looked out the door to where you’re on your knees in the grass, trying to teach Lucky to shake and smiled softly. “She’s the only one that can make Lucky behave.”

He gives them all a half-assed salute and smiles, heading towards the door to bring you a cup of coffee and keep you company. 

Steve watches him go and shakes his head, “Why?”

Thor just smiles a little, “He makes her happy. There is no complication. He is who he is, and there is no ulterior motive. Or if there is, it’s so transparent it’s endearing instead of disgusting.”

____________

When Bucky walks into the kitchen from the training room with Sam and Nat, his expression darkens considerably. “Bucky,” Steve says quietly.

“What?” he snaps.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t fair,” he said, “Just let her be.” 

Sam and Natasha trade looks and leave the kitchen, leaving Steve to deal with Bucky. 

“So she gets to murder my kid, and that’s fine. Everyone’s just okay with it?” he growls.

“Were you gonna magically quit hating her and help her raise it?” Steve countered. “She made a decision. And she didn’t consult you for a reason… All you did was knock her up. You don’t love her. And you don’t really care about her. You’re just mad that someone else is playing with your toy.”

Bucky frowns, “You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he fired back.

“Maybe not. But I know her,” he said, “She didn’t make this choice lightly, and she deserves to have it respected.”

“Respect,” he spat.

“Yes,” he said firmly, “leave them alone. You blew it, Buck. You were so busy acting like an asshole and plotting that you missed the boat. And Clint was smart enough to realize that he loved her and act on it.”

“I don’t love her!”

“Then why do you care who she’s with?” Steve shot back, frustrated. “Buck, you’re my best friend, but if you think for one second I’m gonna let you torment that girl-”

Bucky half screamed in exasperation, “Why do you like her this fucking much?”

“Because, Bucky,” Steve said slowly, “She reminds me of who you used to be.”

“Bull shit-”

“It’s true,” Steve said, cutting him off, “She tries. She puts a bright face on everything, even if it’s tearing her up inside. Charges headfirst into shit that’ll probably get her killed, and you know what else, she’s fucking loyal. Do you think for one second she’d ever do this kind of shit to someone?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He looks away and looks out the doors where you and Clint are coming back from your walk. You’re up on the low wall, using it like a Balance beam, and Clint had a hold of the hand that isn’t holding Jinx’s leash. He’s looking up at you like you hung the moon. Like he can’t believe you’re actually holding his hand.

“Leave her alone, Bucky,” Steve said quietly, “Or the next time she gets ahold of you, I’ll let her have you. You’d fucking deserve it after all this.”

___________

“Clint?” you ask, hopping off the wall, and perching next to him.

“Yeah?” he answered, idly picking a dandelion that had escaped the wrath of the lawn care crew. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you pick me?” you clarify, snuggling into his side.

“I have a thing for women who could crush me with their thighs.”

“Clinton,” you scold.

He laughed and gave you a crooked smile that made your heart skip a beat and put an arm around you, “Because,” he said after a moment, “You remind me… you make me feel like there’s still shit worth fighting for. You handed me a plate of pizza and shot Tony with a nerf gun, and that was it, babe… I’m just sorry I didn’t figure it out faster.”

“Me too,” you pout.

“But,” he said, kissing your nose, “I’m glad I have you now.” He tucked the dandelion behind your ear and melted as he watched your eyes light up. 

“I love you,” you tell him, turning your head to kiss his palm.

“That so, babygirl?”

You hum in agreement and nestle closer. For a moment, it was all perfect. Everything was fine. 

Until the dulcet tones of Amazing Grace being sung in several different keys oozed over the grass in a slimy cloud of condescension. Clint could hear it, and so he knew it was louder for you. He was willing to bet you could pick out individual voices and tell him who they belonged to. But what broke his heart was your face. 

The mix of emotions. 

Those were people you knew. People who raised you. And right now, they were calling you a monster. They’d built a mock pyre and were shouting about being saved or burning. 

Clint couldn’t even start to identify the look on your face. But he saw the tears welling up, and something snapped. This had to stop. It all had to stop. Because if you deserved nothing else, you deserved peace. Even if he had to go to jail for a minute.


	21. Chapter 21

Clint ultimately had had a rather enjoyable morning. It had started with sweet kisses and slow snuggly lovemaking and culminated in creating a minor PR disaster for SHIELD. 

But he’d enjoyed his little counter-protest. Aided and abetted by Thor, Bruce, Sam, Tony, Nat, and several other SHIELD agents that were tired of out of tune hymns and their Witchling not going outside. It had created enough negative attention for the church that Stirling Cole, your stepfather had called for a parlay of sorts.

Clint looked from the bed where you lay, sound asleep, and back in the mirror. At the black eye, he’d gotten when he’d tried to grab you before you could pull Stirling’s throat out in front of the TV cameras. “Worth it,” he said, satisfied. 

“Really worth it,” he amended, looking down at your feet. Cut and still bleeding, though they were healing. Not, perhaps, as rapidly as Bucky or Steve, but even faster than Clint would recover after walking barefoot across hellfire. 

Which, contrary to what Clint had thought, hadn’t burnt you but had left the present gnarly cuts. 

It was all a bit of a blur, really. They’d started by drowning out the protestors by very, very loudly playing the national anthem. That had pissed the protestors off quite a bit. The cacophony had brought you outside, which had riled the protestors up. Rocks started flying. They threw fucking stones at you.

Clint had been furious but nothing. Nothing. Compared to when you slowly turned, blood running down the side of your face and started walking forward. Traffic in front of the tower had ground to a halt due to all the spectators. It had happened in slow motion. Rocks flew, but none of them seemed to land, and you smiled. Or at least. You showed your teeth. And Clint knew, damn well that the face you were making was one countless HYDRA goons had seen before they died. “Oh shit,” he muttered, starting to follow you.

But out of nowhere, fire. The fucking green light created a separation between you and the protestors. Clint looked up to see Strange standing on a balcony out of sight trying to summon something to stop your inevitable progress forward. “Bless him,” Natasha said, “He thinks that’s going to stop her.”

Kill mode was unstoppable. At least. Mostly. You wouldn’t care about Damage to yourself. And that much was clear as you clawed your way through the green flames, unphased by the cuts they left. 

“She’s gonna kill him,” Clint said, “Fuck- Thor-”

But the demigod needed no more prompting. He might agree with you that the man SHOULD be killed, but he knew you couldn’t be SEEN to do it. He rushed forward and wrapped his arms around you quickly, thankful for his sturdy boots. And grateful that “kill mode” as Stark had dubbed it, was only dangerous to your immediate target. He’d once thought it berserker like rage but, Bruce was quick to dissuade him of that. Bruce pegged it as a response to trauma. And Thor agreed. Mostly.

“Witchling,” he rumbled, grunting as you attempted to squirm out of his arms, “Be still.” You radiate pain. Pain and Fear, and Anger. A thousand different memories rush through you, and you just… can’t. You can’t manage it all. Stories about what should happen to anyone who doesn’t obey their god. The sting of a belt against your ass and thighs for whatever infraction. Your elation at the warm sand in California turning to panic as the sunset, and it started to get cold. Foster care. Going hungry. Stealing packs of ramen to eat while you were running. Peggy Carter. A job offer. And then a van. And searing fucking pain. Endless fucking pain as these “SHIELD” ass holes played around with your genetic code. But you didn’t care because you were fed. And warm. And someone finally showed you how to control your powers. You were never enough. Never. It didn’t matter what you did. How obedient you were or how many people you saved. You were nothing. Evil. Dirty. As if you had asked for any of this.

Clint could hear you screaming. There weren’t even words. Just screams. And he blinked back tears. It sounded like Thor was killing you, but. Anyone that had seen you wake up in medical knew that wasn’t this sound. He rushed forward and reached up carefully, trying to remind you that you were okay. And help Thor keep a hold of you. You’d worked an arm free, and the Asgardian was struggling. Even if you weren’t trying to hurt him, you could still be dangerous. 

When your elbow caught his eye, Clint took the opportunity to grab your hand. “Y/N,” he said softly, “Baby. Please. Let us help. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was trying to make it stop.”

You reached for him, and he held his arms out tenderly, “It’s okay,” he murmured, ignoring the pain in his head. He held you against him. His heartbreaking with every stuttering breath. Your fingers curled in the soft fabric of his jacket. “It hurts,” you pant. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he said softly, picking you up when he noticed you standing in a pool of blood from the cuts on your feet. “I’m sorry.”

He knew you didn’t want him to apologize but, he didn’t know what else to say. “Thor,” Clint muttered, “Help me get her inside. No one can see what’s happening now, but she can’t walk back over all this.” Thor grunted and nodded, bashing Mjolnir against the flames to get them out of the way so the archer could carry you.

Clint shifts your weight gently and follows after, pressing soft kisses against your hair when you whimper. “I know,” he soothes, “Shhh. We’ll get you inside, okay?”

“Your eye,” you murmur.

“I’m okay,” he reassures gently, “I know you didn’t mean to. You’d never hurt me on purpose.”

“I love you,” you murmur, swallowing hard. 

“I know,” he says gently, “You love me so much. You didn’t want to hurt anyone… Except for Stirling. And he deserves it. But we can’t let you tear his throat out on live TV baby. We can’t.”

Thor growled next to him, and Clint half smiled, “See, Thor can get away with it. Because he’s big. And not human. But it’s a bad look if we let the sweetest Avenger go around killing preachers on TV.”

“I’m a monster,” you whisper. Clint stops walking, and Thor stops mid-swing, stopping to look at you.

“My lady,” he said quietly, aware that his voice could carry, “I have fought monsters. You are not a monster, Witchling. You’re not what they all did to you to try and tear you asunder. You are kind. And Just. Powerful and sometimes rightfully very scary, but you are not a monster, my darling.” 

“All I took away from that is that Thor is scared of you,” Clint teased, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you huffed a laugh. 

Thor smirked a little and brushed his fingers against your hair affectionately. “Maybe a little,” he teased, “Her knowledge of song lyrics is prodigious and not of this Earth.”

_______

Clint leaned on the door frame, thankful that Lucky was curled between your knees and your belly, and Jinx had taken up her spot behind your knees. You were warm and stuck. Unable to move without disturbing your snoozing fur babies. 

Satisfied you’d be okay for a few minutes, he slipped downstairs. You needed water. And food. And he was hungry. 

He was halfway through putting together some food. Lots of spicy, salty snacks for you and some sweet stuff for him. A couple sodas. Sandwiches. And some frozen fruit. Anything he thought you might want when Natasha leaned over and inspected his eye.

“How you feel?” she asked. The implication, Clint knew, was her asking if you’d meant to do that.

“Fine,” Clint said placatingly, “I caught an elbow trying to help Thor keep hold of her.”

“Kill mode?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

Natasha winced, “I heard her screaming. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I hate it.”

“I know,” Clint said, rubbing his neck, “But… she’s- she’s okay. Mostly. Freaking out because she hurt us. But she’s healing.”

The spy quirks an eyebrow, “Us?”

“She bit Thor trying to get loose. Didn’t break the skin, but there was a real pretty bruise.”

“Damn.”

Clint smirked, “You should have seen my shoulder when she got done with me last week.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled a little. “Only you, Barton,” she huffed.

“You love me,” he says.

“I do,” she admitted, “I’m just glad everything’s okay because… they wanna see her.”

“Who does?” Clint asked cautiously.

“Her mom. And stepdad… Tony threatened charges for property damage. And assault since they hit her with a rock,” she explained.

“And they want her to stop it?”

The spy nodded, and Clint shrugged, “Tough shit,” he said, “She’s asleep. And she’s had enough. She’s gonna stay that way until she’s ready to be up and about.”

Natasha nodded, “I’ll go tell Tony that their Parlay will have to wait.” She wasn’t going to argue. Clint had a point. Putting you back in front of them when you felt raw like this was only gonna make a bigger mess.

_________

Peggy slid a cup of tea across the table to Steve and he smiled his thanks, “Peg, I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” he said, “Bucky just will not let this go.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile and sighed, “Since when does he let anything go?”

“This is different though. It’s vindictive. And all Y/N did was quietly harbor a crush none of us even knew about.”

“That is an accomplishment, given how many spies are in that building,” she said, impressed. 

“Y/N is a good girl,” Steve said, “But Peg, if he keeps pushing on her and she snaps, there’s no one in that building that could save him- Maybe Barton but. Let’s be honest, he’d not stop her.”

She smirked, “No. I don’t think he would. Not if he’s the Clint I remember.”

“He’s worse where she’s concerned,” Steve said rolling his eyes, “No common sense.”

“Well,” she said shrugging, “When someone feels like home, you don’t really want to let them go.”

“That’s true,” he sighed, “But still.”

“But nothing,” she laughed, “What’s the betting pool up to on the proposal?”

Steve smirked, “Sam and I stand to split a pretty chunk of change if he does it on Christmas… Natasha is gonna take it if he does it for Halloween. Bruce swears he’s gonna do it next time they’re on a mission together before he even has a ring.”

Peggy grinned, “I’d say Bruce has the right idea. If he plans anything he won’t go through with it.”

Steve shook his head and gave her an apologetic smile picking up his ringing phone, “Roger- They did what?” he barked.

Peggy sat up a little straighter, eager for some gossip.

“Was anyone hurt?” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. No. Just- yeah. Alright.”

He hung up the phone and groaned, “Clint lobbed a counter-protest,” he explained, “Kill mode happened and now Y/N feet are cut up and CLint has a black eye from trying to help Thor grab hold of her.”

“Fucking hell,” she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.


	22. Chapter 22

“I lost a lot of sleep over what I let happen to Y/N,” Peggy admitted. “When SHIELD contacted me about helping Coulson recruit her, I didn’t- I never believed that she’d be experimented on.”

She sighed and stirred her cup of tea gently, “I have a lot to answer for. I did a lot of things for SHIELD, believing we were the right side. But I think. I think Y/N is the one thing I’m the most afraid to answer for.”

Steve patted her hand, “If it helps, I don’t think she blames you. Or Coulson. Or really even Fury.”

“It doesn’t,” she sighed, “Because she should.” She looked up at Steve and smiled a little, “See, we knew some things. We knew where she came from. The Church of Life. Her time being homeless. Foster Care. Being a runaway. We had well-documented accounts of her abilities. We just- We didn’t count on just how… calmly she’d take everything. And to this day, I’m not sure if it’s faith or some ingrained belief that everything is her fault.”

“Both,” Steve ventured. 

“Perhaps,” Peggy allowed, “But… whatever happens out of all this, I’m glad she at least got something- someone to love her like she deserves. It’s appalling to me that anyone could look at such a sweet girl and declare her undeserving of love.”

Steve sighed, “As long as she doesn’t run off again and leave Barton in the lurch when it all gets a little too real.”

“He found her once,” Peggy said calmly, “He’ll do it again.”

_____________

When Clint opened the door to the suite, he set his tray of goodies down on the table and shut the door quietly. You’re sitting up at least, mostly awake. Trying to remember how to be awake. 

“Hey, Cupcake,” he says, smiling a little, “How’re your feet?”

“How’s your face?” you murmur, catching his chin in your hand to inspect the damage.

Clint smiled a little and turned his head to kiss the palm of your hand, “Baby,” he soothed, “I’m okay. Nothing that won’t heal. And nothing too serious, okay? You didn’t do it on purpose. I know you didn’t.”

“Still did it,” you whisper, tears welling up. 

“No,” he scolded, “No crying, babe. And no apologies. I caught an elbow while you weren’t yourself… Literally not yourself. Even when you hit me, it wasn’t on purpose. You were flailing like a toddler at bedtime, trying to get away from a demi-god. It’s not like you just decided you were gonna pop me in the eye and shut me up.”

He smiles a little and kisses your palm again, “Just eat some food with me?” he presses gently. “We’ll eat and watch some stupid rom coms you can cry over instead.”

“Shut up,” you murmur, blushing, “Ever After is cute.”

“Not as cute as when you start tearin’ up a box of tissues at the end,” he teases as he scoops you up gently. It feels good when you slip your arms around his neck and snuggle close. 

“How do you always smell so good,” you murmur, nuzzling his neck.

“I stopped using Axe and had Nat help me find grown-up cologne,” he answers, kissing your head. “I wanted the hoodies you keep stealing to smell good until you gave ‘em back.”

“I am very spoiled,” you murmur, kissing his jaw.

“You’re a brat,” he chuckled, “But I love it.”

Once he gets you settled, feet propped up, and some food to nibble on, he takes a seat next to you and pushes play on the movie he queued up. He didn’t even know what it was. Just a movie. One that was probably gonna make you cry. 

This one had kids. And cutesy romance. And he wanted it to tug at your heartstrings. If you were engrossed in the movie, you weren’t gonna be feeling guilty about something that wasn’t really your fault. 

“Y/N,” he asked idly when you were about halfway through a sandwich.

“Hmm?” you answer, mouth full for the moment.

“Have you ever thought about kids?” he asked.

You pause for a moment. A little taken aback. Clint didn’t usually ask about the future. He was mostly focused on ‘now.’ At this moment. 

Clint’s cheeks colored, mistaking your surprise for a knee jerk pain reaction, “I mean before- with Bucky- I sorry-” He looked away, and you smiled a little.

“No, I-” you take a deep breath, “Bucky- That- that was a different situation. You just- I mean- we. We don’t usually talk about anything beyond our next date night.”

“I know,” he said, “I just. I’m just curious, I guess. My biological clock or something.”

You smile a little, “When I was younger. Really young. I thought about kids a lot. Cult, you know? I was supposed to be a good little wife. And have lots of babies. Because of Jesus. Or God. Or whatever.”

Clint nodded, “That’s- yeah.”

“It’s gross,” you supply, exhaling slowly. “When I was on my own… I thought for a little while if I had a baby at least I’d have someone to love me but… Some of the stuff from the Cult stuck pretty well. And I was too young to get married so. No baby for me… And then with time. I guess I just pushed it out of my head.”

“I just-” Clint felt his cheeks color.

“I know,” you answer, picking apart a pretzel. “When I got pregnant before… I was terrified. Like, how do you tell a guy that hates you that you’re having a baby and it’s his? And beyond that… I couldn’t. I knew that it wasn’t fair for me to have that baby. I wasn’t. I mean. If I had them, it was just… It was just going to mean I was fucking someone up like my parents did me.”

“Would you ever want kids?” he asked quietly. He knew you weren’t dodging the question. Just giving him some context. He’d never asked about this before. Kids were something he’d avoided asking about. He stayed careful about birth control and tried to just… not bring it up. But the kids in the movie were adorable. And he just- he’d been thinking. Some blonde babies with your freckles might be. Nice. 

“Maybe someday,” you answer, “But not until I retire from the superhero gig.”

“That’s fair,” Clint said, smiling a little, “But I meant. I mean- would you want kids with me?”

You smile, “I don’t think I’d be able to do it with anyone else,” you answer.

Clint lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled wider, “Yeah?”

“I mean, yeah. Clumsy blondes with a love of shitty puns? I’m down.”

“Shitty puns and bad movies,” Clint amended with a dignified sniff, “I have more than one interest.”

You giggle and give the begging pets a little bite of the turkey left on your plate, “But for right now?” you tell him, “Fur babies are enough.”

“But when they’re not?”

“When the baby fever hits and can’t be cured with a new furry thing, you’ll be the first to know,” you tell him, kissing his jaw.

“Promise?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I promise,” you tell him, crossing your heart dramatically before tucking yourself into his side for a cuddle. 

Clint took your plate and set it aside, pulling you closer and letting you situate yourself how you wanted to be. In this case, you settle on his lap, nipping his neck when he popped you on the bottom affectionately. Clint shivered and tilted your chin up slowly, “Careful, Cupcake,” he teases, kissing your nose, “This is gonna turn into some NetFlix and chill pretty quick.”

“Doesn’t that just get you some practice in?” you ask innocently, carding fingers through his hair lovingly.

“Practice?” he hums, nuzzling the spot on your neck that makes you whimper, pondering sucking on it until you’ve got a pretty little mark shining. 

“For when the baby fever hits,” you clarify, arching into his touch with a soft needly sound.

The archer tightens his grip on your waist and chuckles, sucking a soft mark into your collar bone to make you pant for him. “I like the way you think, babygirl,” he rumbles, starting to work on the pretty mark on your neck. You were his and he didn’t want anyone thinking otherwise.


	23. Chapter 23

Sam stopped in the lobby, water bottle halfway to his mouth. Two boys, in their early teens, stood in the doorway. He couldn’t tell if they looked lost or scared, but they definitely looked pissed.

“We want to see out Sister,” the one on the left said, folding his arms.

“Who’s your sister?” Sam asked, confused. 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the one on the right said.

“Oh,” Sam said, nodding.

“Oh.”

As the words penetrated, he felt his heart drop. He could see it now. In the shape and shade of their eyes and the stubborn line of their jaw. “I’ll uh, I’ll make a call,” he said, jogging a little way away and pulling out his phone. 

“Barton,” Clint said, yawning as he picked up the phone.

“Hey. Get Y/N. There are people down in the lobby to see her,” Sam said, suddenly anxious. 

“If it’s her parents,” he starts.

“Her brothers,” Sam says. “I’m gonna take ‘em to the commons. Get the show out of the lobby.”

“Good plan,” Clint said, looking over to where you were dozing, sprawled on your belly and your ass in the air. “I’ll get her up, but… I’m gonna have to carry her. I don’t think she can walk on her feet yet.”

“Doesn’t she have a healing factor?” Sam asked nonplussed.

“Yeah,” Clint answered, “But uh, we got sidetracked, and some energy was going to other… things.”

“Ew,” Sam said, crinkling his nose.

“Hey,” he said, shrugging, “She’s hot. If she says ‘go,’ I say ‘yes ma’am.’”

Sam hangs up after that with a delicate shudder. He didn’t need that mental image. He extra didn’t need to imagine what Clint was like in bed. Though he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you before. At least. At least the way he thought of most people he thought were attractive. Though ever since the day he’d watched you half strangle Bucky he had mixed feelings. A lot of them

“Sam Wilson,” he said, holding out a hand, “Teammates with Y/N.”

“I’m Elijah,” the one on the left said guardedly, taking his hand.

“I’m Ethan,” the one on the right said.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, “C’mon. Y/N will be down in a minute. She’s just gotta get around. Her feet got pretty torn up earlier.”

“Her feet?” Ethan said, confused.

“Yeah,” Sam said, “She was barefoot when she charged into that Green fire stuff earlier.”

Elijah crinkled his nose, but both the boys are otherwise quiet. Watchful.

“Thirsty?” Sam asked, loping to the fridge. 

“Yeah,” they say in unison, and Sam smiles a little. Drinks and snacks. If they’re like all the teenage boys, Sam has ever met that’ll help. A lot.

_____________

“Baby,” Clint said softly, shaking your shoulder, “You gotta get up.”

You make a series of soft unintelligible sounds and rub your eyes, “Misson?” you mumble, rolling over, clutching the sheet to your chest.

“No,” he says gently, “Let’s get you up and dressed. You have visitors downstairs.”

“Who-”

“Your little brothers,” Clint said gently, “They’re downstairs with Sam. They’re demanding to see you.”

You bolt upright and off the bed in a fraction of a second, “No. No. No. No,” you’re muttering to yourself as you hobble as quickly as you can to find clothes. 

Clint watches, not sure what to do but pull on clothes of his own. He wants to see the kids. He wants to see the little brothers that you only had one picture of. “Babe,” he murmurs softly, “Slow down, it’s okay.”

You’re getting worked up. Close to tears. Worried. Scared. Hopeful. Too many feelings to effectively process. In all this mess with the protestors, you never realized that this might mean. Probably did mean that your brothers knew now that you weren’t dead. And that you’d not run away. “Easy,” he soothed, pulling you close and rubbing your back, “Shhh, just breathe. Okay? It’ll be okay.”

“They’re fucking 14 now. 14, Clint,” you murmur, “What if they hate me?”

“If they hated you, they wouldn’t have looked for you, Y/N,” he hoped he was right. He really hoped that was right, and he wasn’t giving you more ammo to use to break your own heart.

You look up at him, about to cry, and he smiles, kissing your nose, “It’s alright. I’ll be right there. The whole time.”

“Clint-” you say hesitating.

“Okay, I’ll be nearby, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He lets you go and lets you walk on your own. He wants to pick you up and carry you to give yourself some more time to heal, but. He knows that you’re gonna want to walk in on your own. You pause in front of the doors to the commons and take a deep breath. 

Clint squeezes your hand gently, “Right here,” he reminds, “You just have to yell… Or throw something. Lucky and I will come in and save the day, okay?”

You nod slowly and walk through the doors. And Clint watches in slow motion as the two boys are off their chair and running across the tile. It’s all slow motion as you fold them into a hug, crying and tousling their hair. And something unclenches in his chest. They love you. They really love you. And, not for the first time, Clint wished his older brother loved him the way you loved those kids.

________

After the initial hugging and crying came the questions. And the pleading. 

“Please,” Elijah said, “Please don’t make us go back.”

You exhale slowly, “I- guys. I can’t just take you from Stirling and mom. You’re their kids.”

“You’re an Avenger!” Ethan protests.

“Yeah, but I can’t just go around kidnapping people,” you tell them squeezing his hand. 

“But, we came to you!”

“I know,” you soothe. “I know. And I’d give anything to be able to keep you with me but right now? Right now, I gotta look into my options, okay?”

They exhale slowly and nod, “You won’t forget about us?”

“I didn’t forget in 12 years,” you say, pulling the photo out of your pocket. A Christmas morning. The boys sitting one on either side of you with piles of presents. They look at it and smile a little. 

“You had short hair,” Eli says softly.

“Yeah. Mom cut it off after I colored the ends with a sharpie at a sleepover,” you tell them.

The trade looks and you smile a little, “It’s okay. I was awake. And she used Kitchen Scissors. Not an axe.”

“That time,” Ethan said, touching his own close-cropped hair.

“I just need time,” you tell them, “Keep your heads down, okay? Be good boys. Be obedient. For now. Call me if anyone puts hands on you and I’ll take care of it, you hear me?”

They nod and you smile a little, “Now. Go. Get out of here before they realize you’re gone, okay? One of you text me when you get there.”

They nod again and hug you as you kiss the sides of their heads, “I love you,” you tell them.

And in that moment, they aren’t half-grown. They’re tiny and waiting on a bath and a bedtime story. Things that shouldn’t be your job but are because the revival is running long. As they leave you sit rooted to the spot staring at your hands. 

You need to talk to Tony. You need a favor. But first, you need to talk to Clint


	24. Chapter 24

Clint sat across from you on the bed, listening intently as you recount the conversation you just had with your siblings. You aren’t crying, but there’s a set to your jaw that tells him if he doesn’t tread lightly, you will be. Even if he didn’t have his hearing aids in, he could hear the cadence of your voice. It’s something he knows well. The way you get matter of fact to try and keep your emotions in check. 

“So,” he asks softly, “What are you going to do?” He reaches for your hand and laces his fingers through yours, studying the patterns on your rings. Each ring does something. Each design means something new. Every inscription has a specific intent. And he doesn’t know why but that’s comforting. 

“I’m going to protect my boys,” you tell him calmly. 

“How are we going to do that?” he asked, exhaling slowly. He never planned on raising kids with you now, but if you were going to protect them, he was going to go with you. That was a no brainer. You were his, and they were yours, and together you were a family. And that was that. That was all she wrote, and he wasn’t going to be dissuaded. Family was family, and Ethan and Elijah were family. 

“I’m going to talk to Tony,” you tell him, “See if Stark’s far-reaching network of lawyers and get them out of Stirling’s custody and into mine. I mean. I have a house and a stable income. Witch-ness aside, I’m pretty stable.”

Clint nods, “What about missions?”

“I can be a reserve,” you remind him, “most of the time, you all don’t even need me. I’m just kinda… here. Especially now that you have Strange. It’s just better optics. A former Doctor who went on a soul searching journey looks better than a genetically modified Highschool drop out.”

“He might look better, but he isn’t you,” Clint said softly, refusing to let you downplay your importance, “Kill mode aside, you’re stronger than him. And he only looks better on paper. In the Field, his attitude can be a liability quickly.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re biased,” you remind him.

Clint smiles a little, “Only when we’re not talking about work,” he says, kissing the hand he’s holding.

“The other issue this takes care of is Bucky,” you sigh, “I’ve got him stuck in a holding pattern, but It’s difficult to know how long I can keep him like that.”

“Y/N,” Clint started, but you shake your head.

“I’m not running away,” you tell him, “But that doesn’t change the fact but like. If I’m not here, it does rather remove an issue. Out of sight out of mind, you know?”

“I dunno if I like you being out in the middle of nowhere alone, though,” Clint said, realizing that, as far as the Bucky situation went, he was gonna have to respect whatever you decided. “Especially if the boys aren’t gonna be able to help you if he pops up.”

“I don’t need them to protect me from Bucky. You either, for that matter,” you tell him, kissing him softly. “All I gotta do is get pissed enough to pounce.”

Clint grinned, “I still have daydreams about the day you tried to kill him. That was fucking hot.”

“Everything is hot to you,” you tell him, smacking him in the head with a pillow.

“You done it now,” he rumbled, picking up another pillow and pouncing, smacking you back and relishing in the giggle he earned. And for the next few minutes, there was no more worry about the boys or about Bucky, and there was just grappling and pillows flying. Giggles and stolen kisses when one of you managed to pin the other. The Archer knew that if you really wanted, you could hold him to the bed, and he’d never get out. He didn’t mind that, of course. But, it was really kinda touching that you let him win sometimes. He appreciated the consideration of his ego. 

Still, when things got less playful, and he started trying to get you out of your clothes, he wasn’t gonna complain about that either. It was reassuring being tangled up in you. The hungry, needy kisses and the way you moaned his name. That hasn’t changed. Nothing had changed even with your percolating plan to get out of the tower. It felt right. Safe. 

Clint sprawled out on his back, panting and pulled you against his chest, “I don’t know how you do that,” he gasped, “But fuck. Babe. Please don’t stop doing it. I can’t feel my toes. I might be paralyzed. Stick a fork in me. I’m done.”

“So dramatic,” you murmur, kissing his jaw, “figured that if you got it in, you’d chill out.”

“Not a chance,” he says, slapping the swell of your ass lovingly, “gotta make sure you don’t forget how fucking amazing you are.”

You laugh softly and nestle closer carefully. “Flattery will get you everywhere, they say.”

“I’m serious,” he protests, “I swear.” There’s silence for a moment, and you can hear the gears grinding in his head.

“Clint-” you start, but there isn’t time to finish your sentence. 

“Marry me,” he blurts out. He flips you on to your back, taking advantage of your momentary stunning. “I mean it,” he rushes on, “I can’t- I mean. You’re mine. I know you’re mine. I don’t give a fuck about a piece of paper to prove it, but… That piece of paper might help you get the boys back.” When tears well up, he feels a moment of panic. Like he might have stepped in it. Like he might have ruined everything. 

“You mean it?” you whisper, swallowing hard. 

“Of course I mean it,” he chuckles, “I love you, ya dummy.”

“Clint-”

“Oh, come on,” he teases, “You scared?”

You laugh, “Only a little.”

Clint sobered and kissed you softly, “Baby, don’t be scared. I’m not scared. You’re the only person I could ever do this with. You, me, and the boys. We can be a family.” He brushes tears away softly and smiles, “Just trust me?” he pleaded. “Marry me. We’ll move out to your house, and Lucky can be a sheepdog or something.”

“Promise?” you ask, turning your head to kiss his palm.

“I promise,” he said earnestly, “Anything you want, baby. Just as long as you’re the first thing, I see when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I see before I go to bed.”

When you start crying for real, he covers your face in soft kisses, “Shh,” he chuckled, “You don’t have to decide now.” He’s trying to hide it, but he doesn’t really know what to do. He doesn’t know if this is happy crying or not.

When your lips crash against his, one hand tangled in his hair, and your legs wrap around his waist, he groans.

“Babe,” he pants, “You gotta help me. They didn’t cover this in non-verbal communication training. Is this a yes or-” Your hips roll up to sheath him inside of you, and he can’t finish his thought. He gasps and bites his lip. 

“How could I say anything else,” you manage after a second, “Clint, you dummy.” The Archer laughs and sinks his teeth into your neck eagerly.

“Yeah?” he gasps, laughing.

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Holy shit,” he says, elated, “I’m fucking getting married.” 

“I love you,” you laugh, pulling him closer so you can feel more of him. He feels like home, and you don’t want to let him go.

“Oh shit,” Clint yelps, “I forgot to get a ring.”

“Clint,” you giggle, “We’re kind of in the middle of something right now.”

“Oh-” he panted, “Right. Um…” He looked down at your chest, distracted, and smirked. “Um, what was I talking about?”

“I think it was how long it’s been since you bothered to eat me out.”

“Was it?” he said hazily, mouthing at your nipple hungrily. 

“Pretty sure,” you tease, carding your fingers through his hair.

“It has been a long time,” he said ponderously, “Probably too long.” He slips out of you with a groan and kisses down your body lovingly. “At least since this morning,” he adds, “And that really is too long.”

“It really is,” you sigh, arching into the touch.

“It really, really is,” he echoes, pushing your thighs apart to get to work. And somewhere, in the back of his mind as he takes you apart, he can’t help but be a little amazed that you agreed to let him do this for the rest of his life. 

You said yes. 

And that? That was everything he ever wanted.


	25. Chapter 25

“Y/N, you sure you wanna give this up?” Steve asked as you smacked a goon in the head with your staff. 

“You know, I think I could be okay with- STEVE DOWN,” you break off with a growl, summoning fire and sending it bursting forth. 

Steve dropped, no questions asked and rolled out of the way, “Thanks,” he gasped before jumping in front of you with his shield. “Fair point,” he added, but there wasn’t time for anything else. He had to watch your back to get you in a position to bring down the spell that was being cast. You had to bring down the spell, stay out of Bucky’s way and just try to make it through this. 

It was nerve-wracking, waiting for your court date and the custody hearing. You knew it was going to be a media circus. Character witnesses. The works. Stirling was using his full might as a mildly famous Television Evangelist with a cult-like following. You hadn’t thought he’d be a match for Stark’s legal team, but you’d been unpleasantly surprised. 

Stirling had managed to create quite the frenzy. You were the evil, wicked witch that was trying to steal his kids. His pride and joy. Trying to indoctrinate them into some Satanic cult. It was exhausting. And more exhausting dealing with that on top of a sudden influx in magical occurrences. 

“Clint,” you say over comms, breathing hard from the effort of tearing the spell down. 

“What’s up, Y/N?”

“Anything else coming?” you ask between gasps for air. 

“You’re good, just stay down and reboot real quick. Clean up crew incoming.”

“ ‘Kay,” you answer, sliding down a wall. Even with augmented strength, Magic, especially magic as you did it. Blunt force combat magic took energy. A lot of it. And in battle, there was no room to hold back. Not if someone else was on the line. You pressed your hand to your side when a sharp pain attracted your attention. “Son of a bitch,” you hiss when your fingers come away bloody. You didn’t even know when that had happened. But the bleeding had to be worse than you thought because when you looked down, there was a pool of blood forming. Running towards the crack in the sidewalk. You knew you should stop it. Evil things could do quite a lot with the blood if they got a hold of it. But you couldn’t think of how. You felt like you were running through quicksand. You couldn’t move. Or think. And it was a struggle to breathe. 

“Y/N,” Steve said over comms, alerted that your breathing was ragged, and Clint had been calling you with no response. “Hang on,” he said calmly, “Medical has your location.” He was vaguely aware that Clint is trying not to lose his mind and trying to stay professional, but when you don’t answer Steve, either it’s slightly terrifying. 

“Just hang on,” Clint pleaded, “We gotta get your boys back, remember?”

You can’t answer him. There are words in your head. A lot of words. But you can’t seem to grab hold of any of them. Or remember how to make sounds. Time doesn’t matter. Or register. It could have been five seconds or five hours. And all you could see was the looming black around your vision, blocking out the periphery. You knew you couldn’t go to sleep. But sitting on the pavement, warmed by the sun. The sounds of gunfire and battle cries were distant and increasingly farther away sounding, a nap just sounded like heaven. A shadow blocked out the sun that was warming your face, and with considerable effort, you pulled your head up to look.

“Bucky?” you manage to rasp. Your ribs felt like they were made of iron and couldn’t expand without massive pain. 

The Assassin looked down at you. You looked like you’d been chewed up and spat out. Sitting in a pool of blood that was running from your side. You were dying. Your heartbeat had slowed to just barely enough to register. He nudged your foot with his as your head fell forward again. Not enough strength in your muscles left to hold your head up. He could kill you if he wanted. And he could get away with it. All he needed was for you to bleed just a little more. 

Instead, he walked away. He had a plan. Another plan that was bound to turn the tables on you and tear everything apart for you. All he had to do was bide his time and let medical find you in the nick of time. 

______

Alarm bells were ringing in Clint’s head as he wound his way through Prague city blocks. He knew where you were. He just had to get medical there, and he prayed that he had enough time. They had all heard you whisper “Bucky” before your comm line had died. Before FRIDAY had chimed in that you were nearing exsanguination. That there was a toxin that was slowing your healing factor to pre- augmentation levels. 

Tony and Steve were barking orders, but the Archer barely heard them. He had one mission. You were his mission, and he had to make sure you were safe. And if not safe that you hadn’t died horribly. 

He slid in front of you on his knees and cupped your cheek in his hand. You were breathing, if only just barely, and he knew he had to get you out of this position. He shifted you carefully, pressing a wad of fabric from your cloak to your side, “Hurts,” you manage.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, frantically trying to keep his panic in check. “Stay with me, baby,” he pleads, “We gotta get married, remember? We’re gonna get married and have a house in the country. You and me and the boys. Don’t go to sleep, baby. Stay with me.” He patted your cheek quickly and pressed harder on your side to try and staunch the bleeding. He pressed his lips to yours gently and blinked back tears, rapidly losing his fight against the panic as your blood ran over his fingers. “Baby please don’t go to sleep. Stay with me. They’re coming, okay?”

Comms are silent, but for Clint’s pleading and your ragged breathing. No one can say anything. There’s nothing to say. And Clint isn’t the only one blinking back tears. It’s heart-wrenching. But when boots are crunching on the ground, and medical descends like a swarm of helpful locusts, everyone breathes a sigh of relief. If anyone can patch you up, it’s Helen Cho. She’s done some incredible work, and she understands more about super soldiers’ physiology after her research than anyone. She has to know what to do.

_________

When you open your eyes slowly and look around, the first thing you see if Clint, half-asleep in a chair, coffee dripping from the mug dangling from his fingertips. Jinx is asleep on his lap, similarly snoring. 

Lucky is lying at your side, his head on your stomach, and so he’s the first one to realize that you’re awake and responds accordingly, whining and wiggling steadily closer to kiss your face. His whining jolts Clint awake, and he looks to the bed with alarm and then, as soon as he realizes your eyes are open and you’re carefully scritching Lucky’s ears, a tired but relieved smile. 

“You look like shit, babe,” you rasp. 

“Yeah,” he laughed, picking up Jinx and coming to lean over the bed and kiss you softly, “well, it’s not like I was gonna leave.”

“How long was I out?” you ask, leaning into the touch.

“Just a day,” he said, “Dr. Cho reverse-engineered the toxin, and you needed blood. A lot of blood…. so we kept you knocked out to give you time to heal.” He’s dying to ask about Bucky. He wants to know what he said or did. If he did anything to you. But he doesn’t know if you remember and he doesn’t honestly want Bucky to be a part of this moment. He’s so happy that you’re awake. And alive. He doesn’t even know how to handle it, he feels like he can breathe. “I’m not gonna lie, baby, I’m kinda glad you want to give up Avenging. I don’t- I don’t think I can take seeing you like that again.”

You reach up to touch his cheek, and he turns his head to kiss your palm, “We gotta go live in the country. And get me a goat. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damn right, you’re not,” he rumbles, kissing you again tenderly before turning to rifle through his pockets. 

“What’cha looking for,” you ask, yawning.

“My insurance policy,” he grouses, “I bought it and been carrying it around but. Obviously, I can’t just keep holding on to it.”

“Clint, why would you need a condom right now?” you ask, perplexed.

“No, you fruit loop,” he sighs, producing a box with a grin, “A ring… I mean. I know you have like, A shit load of them, but. I wanted you to have one. Even if my proposal wasn’t exactly fairy tale material.”

“Well,” you say, smiling a little, “I’m not exactly Cinderella. I don’t need Prince charming. I just need someone to have my six.”

“And I got that, baby,” Clint said, slipping a silver band set with sapphires on your finger. He looked at you in askance, nervous for approval, and you smile at him.

“I love it,” you tell him. “It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” he said, stealing another kiss.

“Yeah,” you answer giggling, “Nat did great.”


	26. Chapter 26

When they let you out of medical, Clint tucks you into bed carefully and tucks himself in next to you. You don’t want visitors right now, you want to sleep and a giant cuddle pile. 

Clint wants to find Bucky and beat the holy hell out of him. But he didn’t. He stayed close to you and resolved to never let go of you. Surrounded by pets and with your face tucked into the hollow of his shoulder. It was what he needed to remind himself that everything was okay.

He’d meant what he said in his moment of desperation, trying to keep you with him. He already had plans for adding on to your house to add fun things. A new Dining room. Maybe a little training room. New bookshelves. A finished basement with a game room for the boys. He liked those ideas. And the idea of having a home with you in it and waiting for him. Or maybe sometimes being home waiting for you. With kids someday. He’d like that too. He’d like a couple rugrats with your eyes and his smart mouth. That thought was enough to lull him off to sleep. Now that he had a ring on your finger, it was all so close he could taste it. And that felt nice. 

______

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, folding his arms across his chest. 

“What?” He answered, looking up from the gun he was cleaning. 

“Thought you might like to know Y/N is going to make a full recovery,” Steve said, eyes narrowing. He didn’t think Bucky had been the one to hit you with a toxin and try to get you exsanguinated. But he certainly hadn’t helped you. At least laid you out flat or stayed nearby. 

Bucky shrugged, “Medical wasn’t gonna let her die. SHIELD paid a lot of money, keeping tabs on her.”

Steve said a prayer for patience and sighed. “Bucky, she’s your teammate,” he sighed.

“And?”

“And she was injured, and you left her to bleed out on the ground,” he half yelled, exasperated.

“I figured if anyone caught me anywhere near her, someone would assume I was trying to kill her,” he said. 

Steve took a deep breath, “Maybe she was right.”

“About what?”

Steve raked his fingers through his hair and leaned against the wall, “She’s planning on getting custody of her brothers. And leaving. Clint too. She told me that maybe if she left, you’d quit being... this way.” 

“I don’t care if she’s here or not,” Bucky said, looking away. He didn’t want to think about you being gone as often as he wanted to choke the life out of you, you brought weird stability to things. “But Nat will care,” he said.

“She and Nat talked before she talked to me,” Steve said, shrugging, “Nat knows where she’s gonna be. And she agrees with Y/n that it might be better if she does go.” Steve sighed, “We don’t want her to go. None of us do, but. She’s earned the right to walk away when she wants. And even if I don’t agree, we’ve got no recourse to make her stay.”

“Who’s gonna clean up all the magical bullshit?”

“She told us she’s handing all that over to Strange, but we can call her if we need her,” Steve clarified.

Bucky grunted and turned to pick up his water bottle. He hated magic. And you. But he might hate Strange more. Strange and his attitude problem tended to rub Bucky the wrong way. At least when you were handling shit, there was no pretense. You just looked at them all and told them how to kill it efficiently. And perhaps issued a necessary precaution to take. Strange always had to tell them a whole fucking story from the beginning of time. The exact origin of the thing and what arcane bullshit that had summoned it. 3/4 of the time, you didn’t know any of that and further, didn’t fucking care. All you needed to know is what it was and how to kill it. 

“Stange isn’t happy about it either,” Steve sighed, “But we can’t make her stay.”

Bucky snorted, “What happens if she doesn’t get custody?”

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know, but. With her and Clint engaged now and Tony loaning her a couple good lawyers, it’s unlikely she won’t get it.”

“Especially in New York,” Bucky agreed.

“Not New York. Missouri,” Steve clarified, “It has to go through the DCFS there.”

“Missouri?”

“Where her family is from,” Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Bucky nodded. That. That put another piece of his plan in place. It gave him a bit of something else to work with. 

__________

“Boys,” you say sternly, “I’m okay. Everything is fine.”

“Clint said you’d been hurt,” Eli said anxiously.

“Damn near bled to death,” you say, laughing softly, “But it takes more than that to keep me down.”

On the other end of the phone, you can hear then having a quiet conference, “You’re gonna be at the hearing, right?”

“Of course I am,” you reassure them, “Clint and I will both be there, okay? This is gonna turn out.”

“What if it doesn’t?” they say together.

“One way or another, I’ll make sure you’re okay. Even if you don’t come home with me, okay?”

“Okay- Shit. Dad.” and the line goes dead. You hope they’re okay. They probably are okay. Good at stashing their phones. You know it’ll be okay, but you really hope they take the legal team's advice and let Stirling think it was all your doing and not theirs. 

Clint lopes over to you and wipes sweat off his forehead on his shirt. “Everything okay?” he asks, touching your arm. 

“Fine,” you say, nodding, “Just some jitters.”

Clint shakes his head, “How are you doing?”

“Same jitters,” you admit, exhaling slowly. 

He grins and kisses your cheek, “It’ll be fine, baby. One way or the other. We’re gonna get you your boys back.”

“Indeed,” Thor rumbled, “Anyone could see they’ll be better off with you.”

Sam snorted softly, and you half-turn, “Comment, Sam?”

“Nope,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I just wanna know what’s gonna happen the first time they piss you off. You gonna snap and try to strangle them too?”

“You piss me off plenty, and your windpipe is still intact,” you say calmly. 

“Sam-” Clint said dangerously.

“Babe,” you say quietly, lacing your fingers through his, “It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving. With the boys or without them.”

Clint grips your hand tighter and turns to look at you, he opens his mouth to speak but doesn’t get the chance to answer before the doors crash open.

“Barton, you son of a bitch,” Tony yelled.

“Aww, moment,” Clint sighed.

“I believe,” Thor rumbled, winking at you, “he recently discovered that Lady Natasha won a good deal of money.”

You roll your eyes as Tony strides over and smacks Clint on the head with a rolled-up newspaper, “You couldn’t wait till Christmas to get engaged?”

Clint grinned and pulled you into his side, “I just didn’t want to give anyone else a chance.”

“A wise move,” Thor agreed, “Though Bruce was irritated that you didn’t tell us.”

“And you weren’t?” you asked him.

Thor grinned, “Midgardian Courting is a strange thing. I was only surprised he didn’t wait until you were with child to remember to ask.”

Clint’s cheeks colored, and Tony choked, “Wait, you’re not right?”

“No,” you groan, “Jesus, fuck.”

“Oh, thank god. Pepper sent me down here to ask what colors you were using for your wedding, so she knew what to use for your Engagement party. She’d shit if she had to do a baby shower too,” Tony said stretching. 

“Colors?” you ask, confused.

Tony gave you a look that was horrified and entertained by equal measure and pulled out his phone, “Pepper, help this child. I said colors, and she just... she doesn’t have a clue.”

Over the phone, you can hear the muffled “Oh my god,” from Pepper, and your stomach drops to somewhere around your feet. Your only experience with weddings comes from movies. And on TV. And the weird cult weddings in the church of life where everyone wore yellow and spent hours praying then all the adults disappeared for a while,, and you all prayed some more for the couple to have a ton of children. You hadn’t really even thought about the actual wedding. Too busy worrying about the boys.

“Don’t worry,” Tony said, pulling his phone back in his pocket, “Pepper can take care of everything. But you,” he broke off, pointing at Clint, “Have rookies to break in.”

Clint sighed, “Fine,” he said, “But I’m not taking it easy on ‘em.”

You watch them go and watch Sam go too, mildly distressed by what he’d said. It was a lot of emotions for a few minutes, and you felt like you had whiplash.

“Witchling,” Thor rumbled, slipping your arm through his, “I’m- I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you ask, turning to look up at him.

“It’s no easy thing to change courses halfway down the river,” he said, cupping your cheek in his other hand, “You had a path, winding though it might be. And now you’re going to leave it to cut a new one. I- that takes courage.”

“Then why am I always so scared?”

He smiles a little, “Because, witchling,” he said gently, “Life taught you to fear. But courage is more than the absence of fear. It’s carrying on despite it.”

“Or because you’re too stupid to know when to quit,” you murmur, looking away.

“A healthy dose of that too,” he laughed. “In another life, Witchling, you would have made a fine Valkyrie... and Battle won’t be the same without you. But, Bruce and I will come to visit.”

You smile, “I’d like that. I think the boys would too.”

“And all your eventual children,” Thor teases. 

You know he means it kindly. You do. But that doesn’t stop a cold feeling of dread that spreads through your body from the pit of your stomach. Not as you remember sitting in a classroom with 30 other kids. All of you being told that the one crucial thing you could ever do was have babies. A lot of them. It’s different listening to Clint gush about babies. That’s cute. It’s reassuring somehow. This just... it feels gross. Like sitting in the classroom. Like being told about sex. And purity. And how to keep the boys around you pure too. You feel too hot. And Cold. And dizzy. So Dizzy. Your pulse is pounding in your ears, and you can’t hear anything but drums and symbols and prayers with words you don’t really understand but sound like you shouldn’t be saying them. It sits wrong in your mouth. And the couple on the altar steps. In Yellow, like everyone else has been on their knees so long, tears are leaving tracks on their cheeks from the pain. But to celebrate, we must feel pain. Because God wills it. You don’t remember the chapter or verse anymore. But you remember the words. The same way you remember the sting of the belt on the backs of your legs.

You don’t register pulling away from Thor and staggering towards the nearest trashcan before you throw up. But the chill of the wall under your hand feels good, even as the contents of your stomach spill out. And the calloused hand that pats your back. It’s reassuring too. Thor makes a soft distressed sound and catches Natasha’s eye, willing her to come to help him. He doesn’t know what happened. 

She trots over and looks at Thor is askance and the large man can only shrug. “Easy, princess,” she soothes. You’re crying now as you dry heave into a trashcan. Trembling and terrified. It’s not the first time she’s seen you have a breakdown. 

Once, not long after New York, a man had followed you down the street, quoting the bible at you. You’d calmly told him off and threatened to throw him into a bus but. The second he was gone, you’d just broken. An unexplained terror had swept through you so quickly and severely that she’d hardly had time to bend you over a trashcan.

“Water,” she tells Thor gently, “Get me water and call us a car. We’re gonna go out for a little bit.”

Thor nods, giving you a worried glance before he goes to do as Natasha had told him. Hopefully, the spy knew something he didn’t.


	27. Chapter 27

“You wanna talk?” Nat said gently, handing you a bottle of water.

“Not here,” you sigh, “Too many ears.” The spy nodded. She could understand that. Agents were lurking everywhere, and she could already hear the rumor mill churning. By this time tomorrow, you were gonna be having a baby with Thor or Bruce so they could raise the kid, and Sam was gonna be mad about it.

Stupid.

So stupid.

And usually, the pair of you might have a good time causing a few more rumors. But right now, you look like you just went ten rounds with Tyson, and she hates it. And she understands. Programming never really goes away. It can go dormant. It can be shouted over. But it’s there. Always there. And it never really goes away. Natasha helped you to your feet and sighed, “Come on. We’ll go get lunch.”

“I don’t know if I can eat,” you tell her.

“Well,” she said, “You can watch me eat. I’m starving.”

“Okay,” you say, smiling a little. She throws an arm carelessly over your shoulder and kisses your cheek.

“Chinese?” she suggests, hoping that she can tempt you to eat something.

“Just as long as there’s alcohol.”

“You can’t get drunk,” she snorts.

“I know. And I miss it so much… I really miss drugs.”

She rolls her eyes, “Degenerate,” she teased. But there was no real heat. She knew how easy it was to lose yourself in overindulgence. And she knew your drugs of choice had been depressants and hallucinogens. Things that dulled the world around you and made it feel more bearable.

“Don’t knock it,” you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck, “The closest I can get now is having sex for a few hours.”

“Which I’m sure Barton is more than happy to help with,” she said, smirking.

“Are you kidding? He’s thrilled.”

Natasha snorts, “Oh, I’m sure… Thanks for that, by the way. He’s a lot more focused on missions.”

You smile a little, “I gotta be good for something, right?”

The spy gives you a look and frowns at you.

“What?” you ask, feeling self-conscious. She has a really unique way of making you feel naked when she glares at you like that.

“You’re not a fuck toy,” she says, “You’re not just here for him to Fuck and Bucky to get a hate boner for.”

Yeah?” you counter, “Then why is everyone obsessed with my reproductive capabilities.”

She snorts, “Mostly because you and Clint will make some really adorable, really fucking clumsy babies. But also because if any of us has a chance to make the whole white picket fence thing work, it’d be you.”

You lean against the car for a second and rest your forehead on the cold metal, taking a deep breath. “You know,” you say after a long moment, “I really- before all of this. And HYDRA. I wanted to be a Kindergarten Teacher. I was maybe 7. They’d put me in the Tree of Life school by then… I was the only girl in the class that didn’t write ‘mommy’ as a dream job on my cute little paper. So my teacher wrote a note home. Said I needed discipline. So Stirling knocked out four of my baby teeth.”

Natasha blinked at you slowly and exhaled, “Can I kill him?”

“Get in line,” you snort, “I got dibs if we ever get to take him out. Fury said so.”

Natasha didn’t have to ask any more questions after that. And she didn’t need to know what had been said to you by anyone to trigger this particular thing. Marriage and Family had some bizarre stuff tangled up in your head. And pressure on it was probably gonna make you bolt. Or unravel a little. Nat made a mental note to talk to Clint. She knew he wasn’t going to press on you for anything. Mostly because you could literally tear his head off if you ever wanted to (not that you would, she amended). But he needed to know. He needed to understand if you started getting cold feet. She didn’t think she could stand it if you broke up. Not now that you’re together. It’s just adorably right. Sweet. And it suits you. You glow differently when someone loves you the way you should be loved, and Clint is a better person when he has a reason to look after himself. She wants you to have a happy little family and a house somewhere. You deserve it. And it would be nice to have a new little vacation spot.

“Get in,” she sighs, “I can’t believe you already called dibs.”

“Well, I mean. Coulson tried it, but I told him I lived the Cult life so like… I overruled him.”

“I mean, That’s fair,” she admitted, waiting for you to buckle your seat belt.

“Are you serious?”

“We’re not doing the passive-aggressive death wish shit today,” she said, fixing the mirrors.

You roll your eyes but buckle it, sticking your tongue out at her, “Not like it’d kill me anyway.”

“Not the point, Y/N,” she said, “And you know it.”

______________

Clint sheathed his practice sword and sighed. He wished it was your day to beat up rookies. This batch was cocky, and they seemed to think he was “less” somehow. He’d really love to see you go a few rounds with some of them and made a mental note to put a bug in Steve’s ear about it.

The training room was quiet now. Quiet and Clint was grateful for it. It gave him time to think. Time to plan. He could see a future, so clearly, it made his chest ache. It was the first time in his life that he could look forward and not feel a vague sense of dread. He wanted that future he saw. And he wanted it with you.

Clint exhaled slowly and started towards the door planning on a shower. What he didn’t expect on was colliding with Steve’s chest, “Sorry, Steve,” he said, stepping aside as Steve put a hand out to steady him before he fell over.

Steve chuckled, “No worries,” he said, “Distracted?”

“A little,” Clint said, “Trying to figure out how I want to extend the dining room and add a little Atrium.”

“I didn’t know you were handy like that,” he said, amused.

“Yeah,” Clint snorted, “Offseason for the circus meant I had to get a hobby.”

Steve nodded, “Sounds like you got a nice little house picked out.”

“Y/N already had a house,” Clint corrected, “I’m just planning on making it a little better.”

“Oh,” Steve said, “Wait- When did she get a house?”

“Where do you think she went when he disappeared?” he asked.

“Hawaii?” Steve suggested, “Mexico? Bali? I just figured she went somewhere warm.”

“I mean sometimes,” Clint said, “But she goes there more often.”

“Got rooms picked out for a nursery?” he teased.

“No,” he said, “But we did decide to give the boys the attic. Plenty of space and no convenient way to sneak out.” He can feel his cheeks heat. He had kinda figured out where to put an eventual baby, but. He was reluctant to bring that up with you. At least not until you were actually married and settled in.

“Good tactical Advantage,” Steve said, “Her idea or yours?”

“She did the “escaping a Cult” thing before. She kinda went buck wild for a little bit, I guess. So she figured she’d make it harder for them to do. Keep them from learning some stuff the hard way.”

“Y/N? No way?”

“Lots of drugs, Steve,” Clint clarified, “Some weird passive-aggressive death wish.”

Steve frowned, “I didn’t know that.”

“Not many people do,” Clint said, shrugging, “She’s not really proud of it. Even if she will occasionally cop to missing getting high.”

“I-”

Clint held up a hand to stop him, “Before you get all moral compass on me,” Clint said, giving him a meaningful look, “Remember. She didn’t figure she had anything to live for. Also, remember that mind control can really fuck someone up.”

Steve snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

“And that’s why,” Clint continued, “She and Natasha get along so well. They understand what it’s like to be reduced to one biological function. To be told that all you are is that one function… And that’s why I’d really appreciate it if everyone would stop talking about it. You can tease me about it all you want. As long as Y/N can’t hear you.”

“Fair enough,” Steve said, exhaling slowly. “I never thought of that,” he admitted.

“No one does. Not really,” he said, “They’re too well adjusted. Or at least, they can pretend to be.”

“Well,” Steve said, “At least she’s doing better now.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, feeling a little bit of pride. “Yeah, she is.”


	28. Chapter 28

“I look responsible, right?” you ask from in front of the mirror. It was your fourth outfit, and clothes were strewn from one end of the room to the other. 

“You look like a very straight-laced and not at all sexy librarian,” Clint said, glancing up from his book.

“Clint-” you whine, reaching back to unzip your skirt and change again. 

“Baby stop,” he said, setting his book aside and reaching for you, “You look good. You look like a whole adult. With a checking account that knows how to do taxes. You even look like you know how to bake.” He pulls you into his lap and smiles up at you.

“Really?” You look stressed and anxious, and like you might be about to cry. Again. You’d been stress crying all day periodically. You don’t want to see your parents, you don’t want to go to court. You don’t want to deal with the coming media circus. But you do want your boys. You want them safe and happy. 

“Really,” he answers softly, cradling your face in his hands. “Baby,” he soothes, “It’s gonna be fine. They’re coming home with us, okay? They’re gonna walk you down the aisle at the wedding and everything, okay?”

When you start crying again, his chest hurts. He wishes you didn’t have to do this. That you could just will it into being. But. Your magic didn’t have that much finesse. You were a blunt instrument for fighting. “Come on,” he encourages, “Let’s get you a hot bath and a cuddle. You’ve got a big day tomorrow, and you need rest.”

“That sounds nice,” you murmur against his neck.

“Then get out of your court clothes and let me get it started, huh?” he murmurs, “I’d love to get you naked anyway. Spend a little time admiring my girl before we gotta be responsible.”

You swallow hard and cling a little tighter for a second, and Clint makes a soft sound, “What’ wrong?” he asked, rubbing your back.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Clint,” you say quietly.

The archer smiles a little, “Of course you do,” he said, “It’s a big change. And a lot of feelings.”

“It’s not that,” you tell him. It’s hard to explain the frozen feeling in the pit of your stomach. The same feeling you get before a rough mission. The same feeling you used to get before Stirling would snap and take his belt to your backside or lock you in the “prayer closet” in the basement. It was a warning. 

He kisses the side of your head and sighs, “Whatever happens,” he promises, “I’ll be right here, okay?” Clint didn’t need you to explain. And didn’t expect you to. And it was kind of glad you didn’t. As much as he knew about your powers, he set less stock in omens and feelings. It all muddied the waters too much, this trying to see into the future. Or relying too much on the past. As far as he was concerned, all that mattered what was right here. The fact that you were in his arms and one step closer to your goal. And getting you to bed to get some rest. 

After a second, when you get off his lap to go hang up your clothes for court, Clint goes to the bathroom to start the water. In the back of his mind, he makes a plan to renovate the bathroom. It was big enough to add you to a nice bathtub. One that you could sulk in after a long day. He adds things to the water from the bottles you’d labeled for him. He didn’t know if the things were magical or just mundane Hippie shit, but it didn’t really matter. It smelled nice. And you liked it.

When you pad into the bathroom, he smiles. You didn’t bother to put clothes on. And he gets a thrill down his spine. You’re beautiful. And as your hands roam over him, deftly removing his clothes, he has no complaints. He’d never planned on putting you in the bath alone. And as you settle back against his chest with a contented sigh, he wraps his arms around you. There aren’t words. There don’t need to be. He watches you toy with his fingers and trace the lines of his palm smiling softly.

“What’s it say?” he asked, teasing.

“I thought you didn’t believe in palm reading,” you answer, kissing his jaw.

“You don’t either,” he snorted.

“No,” you admit, “But it did make me some money when I was on the run.”

Clint kissed the side of your head, “How long did you spend running?”

“About two years,” you answer, “It didn’t take long for someone to scoop my druggie ass up and get me doing shit for a fix. Stealing cars, art, jewelry, artifacts... It’s a small wonder I didn’t end up dead before HYDRA decided to do something with me.”

“So, By the time Peggy and Coulson showed up,” he started hesitantly.

“I was already broken,” you finish. 

Clint hugs you a little tighter reflexively and picks up a washcloth, and some body wash, working it into a lather. “But,” he said softly, “You put the pieces back together pretty well.”

“Except for the ones that are missing,” you say, relaxing into the touch. Clint doesn’t ask you to explain. He doesn’t need it. He had his own missing pieces. Things that had been stripped away. Things were stolen. Sometimes before you even had a chance to know they were there to start with. For Clint, it had been childhood abuse and betrayal. It had been depression. And so looking at himself, he didn’t have a full picture. He didn’t know what he was like, not depressed. Only what it was like to have fewer symptoms. And being with you was the closest he got to filling that piece in. Feeling safe was something he knew now. Being enough was something he knew now. And he loved you for it. He wanted to know what pieces he filled in for you, but in his heart, he already knew that they were probably similar to his. Your missing pieces fit with his.

He didn’t believe in omens, but he did believe in you. That you could make this work together and build the future, he saw so clearly. 

“Except for those,” he answered, smoothing the cloth over the skin of your back, rubbing gently. 

When you turn and straddle his lap, Clint smiled up at you, kissing your lips softly, “Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey,” you answer, kissing his nose, “I love you.”

He grins, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, carding your fingers through his hair.

“We should get married or something,” he teases.

“You think so? I’d settle for a movie date and some icecream.”

He shakes his head, fondly, “We’ll all go out tomorrow. Start corrupting the boys properly.”

That makes you smile. The sweet, innocent smile that makes butterflies take flight in his stomach. He loves that look. And how easy it is to provoke. You spent a long time alone. And longing. Needing someone to see you. Appreciate you. Not the way the team did. But the way a lover did. Someone to learn all those little secrets. Someone you didn’t have to hide from. And he’s glad to see you don’t hide from him. 

“Perfect,” you say, and he knows you’re already planning the movie to take them to. 

“Yeah, you are,” he says, grinning, kissing you again. 

When your cheeks heat, he seizes his opportunity. He knows one sure-fire way to make sure you both get to sleep tonight, And it’s going to involve a lot of very physically exerting acts. Things that you never could have dreamed of if you married someone in a cult. The stuff he was thankful you’d let him try so he could show you what lovemaking was supposed to feel like. And he isn’t disappointed when you respond in kind. The press of your lips getting hungry and impatient when he slowed down.

“So needy,” he scolds breathlessly. 

“Problem?” you counter, smirking.

“Only if you don’t stop grinding on me and ride me right, ya fucking tease,” he pouted. 

He hisses and lets his head fall back as you impale yourself on him and sighs, “Yeah,” he pants, “Fuck. So good.”

“I’m not even moving,” you protest, kissing his throat lovingly.

He pulls his head up and buries his face in your breasts, sucking greedily at the tender flesh to leave soft little marks, “Don’t. Not yet. Just-” he stops, momentarily mesmerized by the tits he’s cradling in his hands, “Just keep me warm for a second. Let me- Let me take care of you first.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you laugh. 

“Is that what we’re calling him now?” he asks, rolling his hips up, “Because baby, with you around this is the most life he’s ever had.”

“Babe, we’re not naming your dick,” you groan, thudding your head against his shoulder gently.

“Says you,” he says, smacking your ass, “I think Chivalry is a perfect name.”

“And I think,” you counter, nipping at his pulse point, reminding him that you were impatient, you voice a hungry growl, “That if you don’t quit you’re gonna have to have a rib removed.”

“Touche,” he said, breath hitching. It doesn’t happen often but when it does, those little predatory things. The hungry things that feel... alien. Supernatural. It feels good. It feels sexy. And it gives him a thrill knowing no one else has ever made you get like that. Given you that primal urge to bite. To possess someone. 

“You win,” he pants, “Fuck. You win. Just. God can we go to bed?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, “Please?”

And after that, there is no more negotiation about names. Clint can’t think. Not of anything but getting back between your thighs to fuck you to sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

Clint knocked back the rest of his whiskey and took a deep breath. Today had been hard. Really hard. And he hated watching on the sidelines while you fought a bitter, bloody battle. 

You had fought hard. It was a valiant effort. But it was in vain. It just hadn’t been enough. And Clint knew you were heartbroken.

What he didn’t know was how it had gotten so... bad. How everything had gotten so far off track and into the woods. In his head, he could hear a conversation. One from long ago. One from the night he met you.

He and Natasha had been the first people to meet Tony. He’d been doing some consulting work or... something. Whatever it was that Tony had allowed SHIELD to pay him to do. 

Clint had met him following him around while he did Tony things, and of course, Nat had met him before that. It had been exhausting, and all Clint had wanted to do was eat and be unconscious for a little while. Tony was really good at making him feel like an idiot, and his impostor syndrome was in full swing. Because, how can Clint be worth his spot on the team if they want someone like Tony? A high school drop out with a GED and no real claim to fame other than some incredible marksmanship. 

At least. At least until Tony had declared that he was hungry and demanded some food be ordered. Clint had to give it to him, he was charming. Charming in a way that made you want to punch him in the teeth even as he made you laugh. But Clint was less than interested in talking. He was in full sulk mode. 

He didn’t want to be noticed. But that didn’t stop you from noticing. Newly instated as an official agent. Clint had heard of you but never seen you. Natasha was in charge of training you, and she had good things to say. You were green but had some up-and-coming talent, powers, and augmentation aside. 

Still. As you picked your way up to his perch, like a little nimble mountain goat, he couldn’t help but smile a little. 

“So,” you muse, handing him a plate, “How much chaos can I cause with a nerf gun?”

Clint cocked his head and gave you a look, “Chaos, huh?”

“It’s been a while since Fury’s been reminded he can’t control everything,” you say, smirking.

“And how exactly are you gonna remind him of that with a toy?” he asks around a mouthful of pizza.

“Wanna fuck around and find out?” you counter, pulling one out of your cargo pocket.

And Clint knew he should say no. And council caution but your smile had made his brain stop working and, as he watched you take aim at the side of Tony’s neck, Clint couldn’t say no. It was satisfying. So very gratifying that Stark was about to be under siege with nothing he could do about it. And as it devolved into nerf darts and makeshift barricades, not even Clint’s impostor syndrome could keep him from participating. He’d had your back, enjoying teaching you the finer points of sniping people from shadowy corners. 

He wished, studying the amber liquid in his glass, that you’d bothered to learn those lessons a little better. That you had learned to lie and sneak. To press your advantage and destroy someone. Because in the end, it had been your honesty. Your heart. That had been the undoing of all your careful plans. The same heart Bucky had exploited once, had betrayed you again. And Clint couldn’t even be angry at you. He knew that anything he could say was only a fraction of all the hateful things you were saying to yourself. And somehow, that had hurt more than he could say. 

_________

You lay on the mat where you fell. The day's exertion and your exhaustion keeping you down as you play your day in court back in your head. You’d had a strong case. Good lawyers. An Ace in the hole. Everything you needed. 

But you’d underestimated the fear of you. And the religious fervor that persisted in that county. So much so that even an endorsement of your character by Captain Fucking America hadn’t been enough. 

Not once, Bucky had given his statement. He’d said that Cap didn’t know what you got up to in your off time. Promiscuity. With him. Premarital sex. An abortion. It had been everything he needed. And, God bless the boys. Too young and indoctrinated to understand that someone could lie about you. The misogyny of the church too ingrained. When it had come time for them to speak, to be your ace in the hole and say that they had contacted you. That they were afraid of Stirling and had been seeking safety. They’d called you a Sorceress. Told that they feared you instead. And you knew. You knew they’d never come to you now. They could forgive a lot of things in service of getting out from under Stirling’s thumb. But not that. Not when they’d been told all their lives that a woman’s purpose was to have children and raise them. They hadn’t looked at you again after. You were a murderer. Beyond redemption. They may not be able to judge you, but they were pretty sure they knew how god would, and. As such. They wouldn’t even attempt to come near you now. 

You wished you could have lied. Hidden everything. Even from Clint and just stayed away. If you had stayed away like you wanted, none of this would have happened. You never would have seen your family again. Never would have been abandoned again. You’d wanted this so much. To save your boys. But nothing was going to make it happen now. They didn’t want you. 

When the training room door bangs open, you pull yourself into a sitting position slowly. But you don’t turn. You know those footsteps, and you know it’s Bucky. 

He stands next to you, and you don’t move. Or turn to look at him. 

“Y/N,” he said, his voice approaching something like tenderness, “I did it for you.”

When you don’t answer, he presses on, “You wouldn’t be happy out in the country playing housewife for Barton and cleaning up after those kids.”

He offers you a hand, wanting to pull you to your feet.

You look up at him slowly, and he smiles a little, “C’Mon. I’ve got a place we can go to. No one will find us. Not till the dust settles.”

“Fuck you,” you bite out, shoving his hand out of your face. 

Bucky pulled back, calculating. You were supposed to be broken. Properly broken. Willing to come with him. Shaken out of all your little pastel daydreams.

“You don’t mean that doll,” he rumbled, trying again, “Come on. I can make it feel better.”

You get to your feet and try to get away from him. Not trusting yourself to keep your anger in check. Not trusting yourself not to kill him if he didn’t back off. And metal fingers close insistently around your wrist to stop you. 

And you don’t think. All you do is react. Eyes glowing silver and nothing but a red, raging, awful haze takes place where reason and compassion usually sit in your mind. 

And when you rear back to hit him, Bucky plans to deflect it. He thinks he can dodge it. But when he puts his hand up to block it, the force of the impact shattered every bone in his arm and left Bucky reeling back from the pain, and he knew that if someone were to touch his arm, it would feel like a tube of toothpaste with marbles in it. And he also knew that the healing process was going to be excruciating. 

“Touch me again,” you growl, teeth bared.

“Y/N,” he said, a sense of danger rising in the pit of his stomach. 

“Fuck around and find out Bucky,” you tempt, “You wanna see how easily I can rip someone apart? You wanna see what else those fuckers did to me? Touch me again. I promise. I’ll slow it down so you can watch.”

Energy crackles as your fingers curl into fists at your sides, and Bucky knows. He knows that he has to tread very lightly, or you're going to tear him to pieces. He knows that currently, no one in the tower can stop you. And not for the first time, he’s thankful for his metal arm. At least that one you can’t liquify. 

So as he rocks back on his heels reluctantly taking his fighting stance and you start forward, he knows he only has once chance. He has to stay out of your way because if you get a hold of him, not a force on Earth can pull you off of him. Even the one on Asgard has to struggle to do it.

_________

Across town, the hair on the back of Clint’s neck stands up. He knows that you asked for space. For a little time to wallow and sort out your feelings. But maybe, just maybe, he figures he ought to get on home and make sure you weren’t doing anything you couldn’t undo. Because he had a sense. And awful sense that that was probably exactly what you were doing.


	30. Chapter 30

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” you rasp, swinging at him again. “You take. And take. and take.’ Each take is punctuated by another blow. One not near as hard as the one that had him cradling his arm to his middle in a desperate attempt to protect it. But each one still calculated to knock him off his course.

“What the fuck did I do that was worth this? What did I do to any of you?” Tears are sliding down your face, and Bucky has a sudden, dawning, painful realization that you aren’t just speaking of the petty, sick little games he played with your heart. But to the universe, it’s self. Your heart had shattered into dangerous shards. Shards you could use to shred the flesh off your own bones. But you’d happily start with Bucky’s in the meantime. Because he was there. And because he underestimated you.

“Y/N,” he panted, trying to step out of your path. The lights overhead dim considerably, and Bucky knows you’re gearing up for another blow. One that would probably kill him.

“Fuck you,” you growl, starting forward again, teeth bared in the rictus of a smile that made his blood run cold. “They warned you. Everyone warned you.”

“I can make it better,” he tried, “I can fix it.”

The laugh that comes out of your throat isn’t yours. It rasps like a saw on wood. Old and rough. It’s a sound he’s never heard. Ever. And he doesn’t know if anyone had. “You can fix it?” you bark, laughing that awful rasping laugh. “You caused it, you stupid lump of fuck.” He doesn’t get a chance to reply. A blow to the side of his head breaks his jaw. Shuts him up, alright. He can’t do anything but lie on the mat and pray that you might be merciful. 

But there is no mercy in your heart now. Reason and compassion have fled and left behind only rage and pain. Bucky’s ears are ringing, and he can hear his jaw knitting back together slowly. Vaguely over that, he can hear the sound of steel being drawn. He can’t move, and he knows you’re compelling him to stay down.

He knows somewhere vaguely in his mind that this. This is the end. That whatever has taken over you, won’t listen to your better nature. 

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. And as everything goes black at the edges. It... hurts him. For the first time in a long time, he is scared. 

Clint and Natasha freeze on the threshold. Blood running cold. Your spine is contorted. Arms lengthened. Teeth sharp. Natasha tries to stop him, drawing a gun, but Clint creeps forward slowly. “Y/N,” he says softly, “Don’t do this.”

Your head turns towards him, and Clint feels his stomach turn when he notices Bucky’s arm is a queer ‘S’ shape on the ground. “He deserves it,” you growl.

“But you don’t,” he says carefully. “You’re not a killer. Not like this.” Your breathing is ragged, and Clint knows that you’re at the end of your strength. And for that he’s thankful. He’s also grateful that the predator in your head is stupid when it’s angry. And that it likes to play with its prey. Like a cat. It means it wastes time. And energy. The energy you could have used to just tear Bucky’s heart out and feed it to Lucky. 

“Murderer,” you growl, teeth grinding. 

“That wasn’t murder,” he says, keeping his hands where you can see them, Trying not to enjoy Bucky turning Purple trying to sputter apologies. “That was self-preservation, babe.”

The sound you make isn’t human. It raises the hair on the back of his neck, and he wills himself to stay still. To keep himself from backing away from you. He can see you under the misshapen form of your spine and your arms. The changes to your jaw. You look monstrous. But you are not a monster. He reaches out a hand, trying to coax you off of him.

Steel presses against Bucky’s throat, and Clint swallows hard, “Don’t do this,” he pleads, “Come with me, baby. You’re better than this. Better than him.”

The sharp point starts to draw blood, and Bucky gasps. Behind him, Clint hears Natasha quietly cock her gun. He knows Nat won’t shoot to kill. Not you. But he knows she’ll shoot to hurt you. As badly as she can. Anything to get everyone out of this room alive. 

You look down at Bucky. Silver eyes unfathomable. Dispassionate. And as you raise the sword, quicker than a viper’s strike, Natasha shoots it from your hand, pushing you off of Bucky with a cry of pain as the last of your strength is pushed to healing the wounded hand.

Clint is away from Bucky and kneeling next to you, kissing your face tenderly and wrapping a bandana around your hand hastily. “I couldn’t let you do it,” he said softly. “Nat couldn’t let you do it,” he soothed. 

Tears run down your cheeks, and all you can do is curl around the pain in your chest and hug it to you. There is nothing to soothe it. No reason to get up. The rage and red haze are gone leaving behind only cold and crushing emptiness. “I should have died,” is all Clint sees fall from your bloodless lips. 

“But you didn’t,” he whispers, pulling you gently into his arms, watching medical descend on Bucky. A swarm of helpful locusts. He doesn’t know what you did to the bones in his arm, but he’s willing to bet it had hurt. A lot. And was going to continue to hurt until it finally healed. “Nat,” he called softly. 

The spy turned, her face going through several emotions. You looked small and scared. Even when the dam broke, you were never any bigger, but somehow, you took up space. She loped over quietly and knelt, touching your head tenderly, mindful that it hurt. “We need to get her in a subacute room,” he said quietly, “I don’t think we can love her out of this one.”

She catches Clint’s eye, and he looks worried. He never worries. Not like this, and as he tightens his grip on you, her heart twists. “I’ll call Banner,” she said, “Have him get her set up. And get a sedative on hand... If the barrier really is broken-” She stops when Clint winces.

“I know-” he said, “If she destabilizes it could- I mean.” He swallows hard. He can’t bring himself to say it. 

“But Banner and Shuri can probably put it back. Buy time. Just- Just hold her. Whatever’s left of her will listen to you.”

He watches her go, phone to her ear and kisses your forehead. “We’ll be okay, baby.” he says softly, “Just hold on.”


	31. Chapter 31

Clint collapsed into the chair and sighed, “Tony,” he said, “She’s not a hazard to anyone but Bucky at this point.

“She liquified his arm,” Tony said, gagging.

“And she wouldn’t have if he hadn’t tried to grab her,” Clint said stubbornly, refusing to let Tony place the blame for this on you. 

Tony sighed, “Look, we know that. We watched the video. But the fact of the matter is before we can set her loose out of the subacute room, no one can go in there. Not even you.”

Clint sighed, “Tony, that’s not fair.”

“Well, it’s the protocol,” Tony sighed, “We set it in place with her after SHIELD fell. After she got hold of the official documents and read what they did to her brain.”

“It’s a stupid protocol. She snapped back as soon as Nat shot her,” Clint said, “For years she’s been telling herself that she’s a fucking monster. And for what?”

Tony sighed, “That’s what she wanted us to do if the barriers ever broke. It’s as much to protect her as it is to protect us.”

Clint sighed, “Fine. But can Bruce at least bring her something for me?”

“Bring her what?”

“Just… something.” Clint didn’t like the idea that you were locked away. Even under monitoring. He knew you too well to think it was going to prevent you from hurting yourself if you wanted to bad enough. And now that the barriers were broken and the “other” was free, he didn’t know what to expect. All he could do was remind you that he loved you. That nothing had changed. He just had to figure out how to tell you that. And make you believe it. 

____________

Steve sat next to Bucky’s bed and watched his arm with interest. He wondered how you’d done it. It was an impressive amount of damage. 

“Where is she?” Bucky asked through gritted teeth. It hurt healing. Worse than it had hurt when you’d done it. 

“Away from you,” Steve said stonily. 

“I’m gonna kill her,” Bucky said.

“Fuck around and find out,” Steve said, echoing you, “what’s gonna happen if you try it.”

Bucky turned his head, “Whose side are you on?” he asked.

“Hers,” he said, folding his arms. “She seems to be the only one in this situation that hasn’t done anything.”

“She fucking dissolved the bones in my arm,” Bucky said, infuriated.

“After,” Steve said, pausing for emphasis and pushing play on the tape of him gripping your wrist, “You tried to stop her walking away from you.”

“When are they lettin’ her loose?” Bucky asked. 

“When she’s cleared to come back,” Steve said levelly, “And when she gets out, you’re gonna leave her alone.”

“Steve-”

“No,” Steve said, cutting him off, “As your friend. This is over. If you come near her again, I’m not gonna be held responsible for anything that happens to you. And I won’t let Y/N suffer consequences for it either.”

Bucky glared, and Steve folded his arms, “From the outset, her behavior has been above reproach. When her feelings weren’t reciprocated, she let the matter drop. You didn’t. You tried to make her life a living hell. You damn well decided that she needed to be punished and decided that you were judge and jury. It broke her heart. And it should have ended there. Instead, you decided to air all your dirty laundry. IN COURT. You decided to tell the whole world that she got pregnant and had an abortion. What you didn’t say was that it was your fucking kid… I can’t. Bucky. Who the fuck are you? Do you want her to stay, or do you want her to go?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky growled.

“You love her,” Steve said, shaking his head, “You love her, and you’re too fucking angry at her to realize it.”

“I don’t love her,” Bucky snapped.

“Then why do you care so much?”

“Because she’s throwing her life away!” Bucky said, “Do you really think someone that valuable should walk away to go play housewife and start popping out a bunch of snot-nosed kids to take care of?”

“Friend’s want what’s best for friends, Bucky, only lovers are selfish,” Steve said quietly. “Who the fuck are you to tell her what’s best for her?”

“What would you tell her then?” Bucky hissed.

“To follow her heart,” Steve said practically, “ to do something for herself. To go and ride off into the sunset with Clint and just be happy.”

When Bucky glowered at him, Steve shrugged, “It coulda been you. But honestly, I’m glad it isn’t. Because I guarantee you. If Clint were in your spot, he’d not ever dreamed of doing her like you’re doing.”

Bucky let his head fall back with a groan and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t want you to go. He didn’t want to have to see you again, either. 

_________________

Bruce looked at the readouts and nodded, “It’s working,” he said encouragingly. “Things are calming down.”

You sigh and hug the little stuffed bear Clint had, had delivered to you. It wasn’t the same as having Jinx and Lucky. Or Clint to hold, but. It helped. It made being confined less lonely. Not that you didn’t deserve it. 

“Y/N,” Bruce said softly, “It’s okay. No one is mad at you.”

“They should be,” you answered, hugging the bear tighter, “Nat should have shot me in the head.”

“We’re not putting you down,” Bruce said sternly, ‘You didn’t kill him. And even if you did, you were provoked.”

You don’t reply. There isn’t anything to say. You feel like you’re a monster. More monstrous than usual. Bruce frowned and brushed hair out of your eyes carefully. “Listen to me,” he said urgently, “As soon as I can get you out of here I’m gonna, okay?”

You shrug but don’t meet his eyes. “Tell Clint I love him, okay?”

Bruce’s heart hits somewhere around his kneecaps and he swallows hard, nodding, “Anything else?” he asks.

“That I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

Bruce wants to ask you to elaborate. But he has a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that won’t let him ask. He kisses your forehead and leave quietly, going to the lab just off to the side. 

“Shuri,” he said shutting the door, “Call Steve, we have a problem.”

The girl looked up at him, “What kind of problem?”

“Something above our paygrade. We need a therapist.”


	32. Chapter 32

“What did she mean?” Clint asked Bruce, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I was afraid to ask,” Bruce admitted, “But a therapist is coming to talk to her.”

“That’ll end well,” Clint said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s a woman this time,” Bruce said, “I thought that was a better plan.”

The Archer paced for a second and rubbed the back of his neck. He wants to see you. Needs to see you. He knows what it’s like to feel this… unanchored. He felt it every time he saw Barney. 

It left him feeling rubbed raw. Old wounds chafed and broken open. And that was without the extra baggage you carried with you. 

“Did she say anything else?” he asked.

“Just that Nat should have shot her in the head,” Bruce answered. 

Clint met Natasha’s eye, and Steve cringed.

“You gotta let me in there to see her,” Clint told Steve.

“The readouts are all good,” Bruce added, “She’s stabilized.”

Steve looked at Natasha and back at Clint. It made his chest hurt, the idea that the biggest threat to you was you. That you were gonna tear yourself apart to try and protect them. And he’d be lying if Clint’s panic wasn’t a little infectious. 

“Alright,” Steve relented. He didn’t like it. But he liked even less the idea that someone on his team was suffering. If not directly from his actions, then from his inaction. He’d let Bucky do this, and he hated it. He opened his mouth to say more. To give Clint conditions but the Archer was already gone. His footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha smiled a little. It was sweet, even under the circumstances. “Don’t start Romanoff,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Wasn’t gonna,” she said, kissing his cheek, “But if she’s stable…”

“No,” Steve groaned.

“Why not,” she said, pouting prettily, “What could happen in a room full of people she likes? We run out of popcorn?”

“A few stupid rom coms and some snacks could be beneficial,” Bruce added helpfully, “A sense of normalcy… I’d imagine it is really really strange having a second entity in your head telling you to kill everyone you see. And then yourself and let them out.”

Steve sighed, “Let’s see what headway Barton can make with her first,” he said, “She put this protocol in place, remember?”

_________________

Clint let himself into your room quietly, hoping he wasn’t sweating. Or gross. After running all the way here. 

“Clint?” you ask, scurrying away from the door, pressing yourself into a corner as far as you can get from him, “You can’t be here, please.” You cower away from him, sinking down the wall and locking your arms around your knees holding tightly. In the back of your mind, you can hear it. The other. And it’s growling.

Clint kept his distance, holding his hands out, “Baby,” he soothed, “You’re okay. You have control.”

He watches you dissolve into tears, and his chest hurts. He can’t take it. He walks forward slowly and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. Someone had decided they should probably give you a paper hospital gown instead of letting you keep your clothes. Probably the therapist. Clint was a little sad that it was probably a good idea. 

“It’s cold down here on the floor,” he coaxed, kissing your head, “C’mon. Let’s get you comfortable.”

He didn’t answer your protestations that he needed to go. Any more than he would let you wallow on lousy brain days. He laid you down on the narrow little bed, tucking blankets around you and then pulling you back into his arms. He knows that part of you is still dangerous. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up. But hazardous or no, he can’t let you flagellate yourself over and over again. You deserve love. And you deserve to be comforted. And he’s going to do it whether you want him to or not. 

It takes a minute. It takes a long minute. But slowly, the warmth and pressure of him holding you to him firmly helps you to relax, and Clint rubs the back of your neck as you snuggle closer, hiding your face in his chest. 

“That’s it,” he praises, “Good girl. Just close your eyes for me, okay? Bruce said, you’re not sleeping.”

“Can’t sleep,” you tell him hesitantly. 

“Why not?” he asks softly. 

“I’m afraid,” you tell him.

“Of what, cupcake?” he asks, pulling your leg over him, so you were more or less laying on him. The way you liked to lay to go to sleep. 

“Of the Other,” you tell him, “Of what they’ll do when I’m not in the way.”

“It’ll be okay, Y/N,” he said, “You’re not gonna hurt me. You never have, not on purpose.” He knew that adding the ‘not on purpose’ at the end was the right move when you nodded. Because you knew you had hurt him before. Bitten too hard or thrown his back out or the time you popped him in the eye, trying to get loose from Thor. And trying to act like that had never happened wasn’t going to help you orient to right now. And drown out what was in your head.

“Tell me a story?” you ask, looking up at him.

“What kind of story?” he asks, kissing your forehead tenderly. You look so tired. Anything to get you comfortable. Anything to get you to sleep so you could get better.

“Just a story,” you murmur, quietly pleading. Anything to distract you. Anything to keep you from thinking about the monster in your head.

Clint smiles a little and hums thoughtfully, “Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to be a fire eater?” he asked.

“No,” you answer, snuggling close. You know this is about to be mostly bullshit, it always is if you can’t google it and prove it. But he’s warm and close, and for the first time in days, you aren’t ready to jump out a window or tear someone’s lungs out through their knees. All you want to do is lay there and listen and let his voice drown out the growling rasping against your skull, filing away at what’s left of your sanity. 

Clint lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and adjusted the blankets to make sure you were covered, hoping the pressure would help you to sleep. “See,” he started, “It started as a dare. My brother, Barney, basically said I was a pussy if I didn’t.” You snort and he smiles a little, “Don’t laugh,” he said, “My masculinity used to be really fragile. See. The Bearded lady had better facial hair than me… it was a real problem. Not to mention her voice was deeper and she got more chicks than me.” That coaxes more than a chuckle out of you and he grins. “Then I met you. And I realized there were benefits to having a girl be tougher than me.”

“But before that?” you ask, smiling a little.

“Oh. Before that I was fucking pissed.”


	33. Chapter 33

From a subacute room, sterile, and bare, they shifted you to a regular room. Keeping an eye on both your mental state and the newly erected barriers that served to hold back the primal, animal urges that triggered when you felt sufficient emotional distress. 

Slowly and very steadily, your therapist was making progress, Clint guessed. Well. He hoped, but he didn’t see any difference. You were still depressed, and discussions of returning to the field had been quashed for now.

Steve and Tony both agreed you weren’t fit for the field right now. Too much room for you to have an accident. Too many ways to hurt yourself, and it flies under the radar. And they didn’t like that. The idea that you could think that way. So for now. You were cooling your heels. Ostensibly planning a wedding. But, if you asked Pepper, you were procrastinating.

Pepper looked up from her tablet and looked at the bridal magazines spread over your lap. She’s told you to find things you liked. But none of these were things you liked. 

You liked movies. And books. You liked Clint. And your pets. And spending time with your friends… Somewhere approaching that order. Flowers and cloth napkins and letter boards just made your head hurt. 

“Well?” she said hopefully. 

“All I got is no yellow, Pepper,” you tell her, feeling overwhelmed. 

“Aww, but Yellow is such a happy color!” she protested, “You’d look so pretty in it.”

You shake your head frantically and swallow hard. Just the thought of it. The Butter yellow fabric stained red at the knees from where the skin had broken open left you feeling raw. 

“Okay,” Pepper soothed, “No, yellow… it’s a start. I can work with no yellow.”

Natasha looked up from her own magazine and kissed your cheek, “You like Blue, right? Blue’s a good color. And Clint always looks nice in a blue shirt.”

“It’s not about Clint,” Pepper says, laughing, “No one cares if he looks nice. No one’s really gonna be looking at what he’s wearing.”

“I will,” you say meekly, “He’s pretty.”

That makes both of them laugh, and Pepper sighs, “Fine,” she grouses, “We can do blue. And maybe a nice tan or antique yellow… Summer is right around the corner. We could do a little wedding on the beach.”

“Or find a nice little woods,” Natasha added, “It can be whatever you want, Y/N. Wherever you want. Clint’s not gonna care as long as he gets to spend the wedding night with you.”

“Can’t we just sign papers and call it a day?” you murmur, looking down at the endless articles about flowers and dresses. Maybe there was something to all the weddings in the Church of Life being the exact fucking same. You didn’t remember anyone feeling sick doing the planning. No one cared. They just all showed up at the appointed time and fucked off when it was done.

“You don’t want a wedding?” Natasha asked a little surprised.

“I want a marriage,” you sigh, “I just- I want him. I guess I just don’t need all the fluff…” She watches your face and Catches Pepper’s eye, quietly mouthing “Cult” over your head as you flip listlessly through pages. 

Pepper’s eyes widen. She never considered that. That you might be overwhelmed by all the details instead of invigorated. “So,” she tried, “What about if you do the ceremony part and we just throw a party after… One with cupcakes and champagne, and we don’t add so much… stuff.”

And for the first time since Pepper plopped the stack of stuff in your lap, you smile, and it’s like the sun coming out. 

_________________

“How’s the wedding planning?” Bruce asks, leaning against the wall, watching Clint spar with Thor. 

“It’s… it’s been hard,” Clint admits.

“Nerves?” Thor asked. 

“No,” Clint said, shaking his head and ducking out of the way, “If I talk to her, she’s… She’s excited about all my plans for the house. And the furbabies having a yard to play in. And having a garden and stuff but… Cult things, you know?”

“Cult things?” Thor asked.

“Her step dad’s ministry,” Clint reminded, “I guess weddings were kinda traumatic… I mean. Everything was traumatic living there.”

“So she’s good with the married part, just not the wedding part?” Bruce said, confused. 

“She has similar feelings about children,” Clint said, nodding, “There’s some weird stuff tied up in her head.”

“It seems so,” Thor said, frowning. He didn’t like the idea that such happy events would cause stress or upset to his Witchling. 

“How are you doing with it?” Bruce asked.

“I Just gotta show up when she tells me to and wear what she says,” Clint said, “Maybe remind her that we can always elope if she wants to so. I’m good.” He smiled, “I’m just happy that she still wants to get married and didn’t talk herself out of it.”

Thor smiled and pulled Clint back to his feet, clapping him on the back. This, he thought, is a good man. Someone properly worthy of his Witchling. Not that he doubted that. But, it was good to know that he was going to keep loving you even when it was hard. 

_________

“How is she?” Peggy asked, passing Steve tea. She’d been worried for you. 

“Still getting married, so far as I know,” Steve said with a sigh, “But her evals are still off. The new barriers are holding, but we have a whole army of therapists working with her, and none of them seem to be doing much.”

Peggy shook her head, “Poor dear,” she said. Last night, she’d dreamt about you. Too scared and too skinny. Strung out on god knows what, blinking in the harsh light like your head hurt. It still made her heart ache. You could have been her granddaughter or a little girl next door. Instead, you were living on the street and helping steal cars. For drugs and maybe some food. 

Steve shrugged, “But she is doing better… And Bucky’s arm healed up, even if they had to break it again to make it set right.”

“How did she do that?”

“Her rings,” Steve answers, “She has one on either hand that’s like… kinetic or something. It takes a little of the energy she uses every time she moves her hands, and stores it.. so when she punched, she let it go.”

“Handy that,” Peggy said sipping her tea. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess it is.”

“It’ll be fine, Steve,” Peggy said softly, “Some time away will probably do Bucky some good.”

“Yeah,” he said again, “I just. I wish this hadn’t happened.”

“If wishes were fishes,” Peggy said shaking her head, “Bucky will be fine. I’m just glad Y/N had the good sense to punch him instead of talking.”


	34. Chapter 34

Clint lounged on a sofa in the commons with his feet propped up on the coffee table. He was scrolling listlessly through channels, not really paying attention. His mind was elsewhere. 

He really wanted to know what the fuck was going on in your room. 

Natasha had unceremoniously thrown him out. And shut the door behind him. Not much behind her, Bruce had let himself in, and So had Pepper. “What the fuck?” he mouthed.

“Wedding something,” Steve said in passing, yawning. 

Clint rolled his eyes, “Jesus Christ.”

Steve smirked, “Cold feet?” he teased

“No!” Clint said, shaking his head, “I’m just tired of planning.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Steve laughed, “Most people plan for like a year.”

Clint sighed, He knew that. But he missed having you in the suite. He missed having you asleep in his arms in the big bed. He missed good morning kisses and the time before he had his hearing aids in. You snuggling into his lap as he sipped coffee and tried to remember how to be awake. He missed the slow, sleepy mornings. When the day romanced him a little before it wanted to fuck him.

“I know that,” he said, “But I just. I want her back.”

Steve gave him a sympathetic look, “We just-”

“I know,” he said, shaking his head, “I understand it. I just hate not being with her.”

Steve sat next to him and similarly propped his feet up, “How are you doing with everything?”

Clint smiled a little, “I’m not gonna lie,” he said, “It’s nice not worrying about where Bucky is in relation to her all the time.”

Steve nodded, he could see that. 

“I mean,” Clint continued on, “I know she can handle herself. She damn near killed him. She just shouldn’t have to.”

“I know,” Steve sighed, “I feel like I owe you both an apology.”

“You do, and you don’t,” Clint said. “You couldn’t have known what Bucky was doing.”

“I should have guessed.”

Clint shook his head and sighed, “The Bucky you knew would have never done that to a girl he liked.”

“He doesn’t just like her, Clint,” Steve cautioned.

“I know,” the other man said calmly, “And once upon a time, he could have had her but...”

“Not now,” Steve agreed, “But that doesn’t mean he might not try.”

“He can,” Clint said, “And I’ll sit back and laugh while she tears him apart.”

Steve nodded, “And that’d be entirely fair... I’m still heartbroken about how court went.”

“Me too,” Clint said softly. And Steve made a soft, sympathetic sound. Steve hadn’t understood what was at stake for you until you’d broken. You didn’t talk about your family. He’d figured that you’d pushed it out of your head. But clearly, when you’d had them ripped away from you again, you hadn’t. And this time you’d had to deal with the pain from the first time too. Steve was also a little surprised how much getting your boys back had meant to Clint. But, then again. It didn’t. Clint would move heaven and earth to see you happy. It was all he wanted. Not to mention the fact that he wanted a family too.

_______

“That’s beautiful, Y/N,” Bruce said from his spot on the bed.

“It really is,” Natasha followed up as Pepper nodded, speechless. 

“I feel like a clown,” you say, shifting uncomfortably. You felt unsteady on the heels, and the miles of satin and lace were utterly foreign to you, even though you’d had to wear formal gowns before. 

“What don’t you like?” Pepper asked gently. It was only the first dress they’d tried. She honestly didn’t expect you to like it. But she wanted to know what direction to go. 

“It’s stunning,” you clarify, “But I’m not.”

Pepper nodded, “Too much?”

“Too much,” you answer.

“Pretty sure that if she had her way, she’d be getting married in a white hoodie and some blue jeans,” Bruce teased. 

“Can I do that?” you ask.

“No!” Pepper and Natasha answered together. 

When you wince at the tone, they softened. “C’mon, Princess,” Natasha coaxed, “Barton might like it.”

“But he likes when I wear hoodies,” you remind. 

Pepper smiled a little, “Yeah,” she said, “he likes everything you wear. But a dress and some heels would probably make his brain stop working.”

You sigh, “What’s the point of it being my wedding if I can’t do what I want?” It’s an innocent question. But it’s enough to make Everyone in the room behind you trade looks as you stand in front of the mirror and tug gently at all the fabric, trying desperately to get more comfortable. 

“What do you want, Princess?” Natasha asked softly. She knew you had a lot of time to think once visiting hours were over.

“Can’t we just go camping and chill out?” you ask. You’re dying to be outside. You don’t want a wedding in a massive hall with a bunch of people you don’t know. You hate networking. You hate it. And all you want is your favorite people in one place. And cupcakes. And some alcohol.

Pepper, bless her and her classy little heart blanched and looked frantically at Natasha and Bruce.

“That sounds like a good day,” Natasha hummed, crossing the floor to unzip the back of the dress. 

“And to do that,” Pepper said, shaking her head fondly, “You definitely don’t need a dress that fancy.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, smiling, “But you do need the perfect flavor of cupcake.”

“Oooh! Cake tasting!” Pepper said enthusiastically, “Yes! Great idea!”

And before you had a chance to tell her that you were just going to want chocolate and vanilla and whipped icing, she was on the phone with a bakery.

“Give her this one, Y/N,” Bruce said, grinning, “She thought she was gonna plan a fancy shindig in a nice hotel... not a bonfire in the woods.”

You wince, and Natasha laughed, “It’s okay, Princess,” she said, helping your out of the dress, “We just want you to have a good day.”

You catch her eye in the mirror and take a deep breath, “I don’t have to have Bucky there, right?”

“Absolutely not,” she said looking up at you, “I said a good day. Not a disaster.”


	35. Chapter 35

Thor strolled into the training room with a booming laugh. He was recently returned from Asgard and more than ready to waste some time smacking rookies around after a morning of pleasant exertions with his love. What he didn’t expect was to find Hawkeye furiously working a punching bag. He tutted and cringed sympathetically. He knew what sexual frustration looked like. 

And it was clear that the separation from you was starting to have some adverse effects. It had been a long time since the Archer had looked that annoyed getting his work out in, in the morning. 

“Good afternoon,” Thor said, leaning on the wall, smiling a little. 

Clint grunted in response and rocked back on his heels, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Hey, Thor,” he panted. 

“How do you fare?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, “You?”

“Excited for the wedding,” He said, eyes sparkling with mischief, “I’ve not been to a wedding on Midgard for a long time.”

The grumpy look on Clint’s face softened, and he smiled a little, “It’s not going to be a traditional thing,” Clint said, “But. At least she’ll be comfortable.”

“So Bruce said,” Thor said, grinning, “But the pictures of her dress he showed me were beautiful.”

Clint took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was looking forward to the dress, he wasn’t going to lie. He didn’t care what you wore. You could marry him buck ass naked, and he wouldn’t care. But in the wee small hours of the morning, he was happy to imagine you coming towards him. Whatever soft, romantic, flowing thing you’d want to wear. He always figured you wouldn’t wear shoes, and that made him happy. Though for all of his little daydreams about that, he tried not to think about the wedding night. 

Thor gave him a knowing look, and he tried not to blush too much. He’d not masturbated this much since he first figured out how and it paled in comparison to putting you in bed. Or against a wall. Or over a table. Or any other place he could have you.

“Any word on when they’re going to let her come back to join us all?” Thor asked a note of concern in his voice. 

“In a couple days,” Clint said, wincing, “They’ve been doing some tinkering with her brain... and had her doing some pretty intense therapy to deal with some things.”

“That could be beneficial,” Thor answered encouragingly.

“Yeah,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew that, but he didn’t like seeing you that emotionally wrung out when he came to visit you after you were done for the day. Not when he couldn’t stay to hold you and make sure you got to rest. Or that he was just there to let you cling to him. He missed you. It felt like he was missing a limb not being close to you. 

“Some things are better,” Clint said slowly, “But some stuff is still... I think that’ll get better with time. Losing the boys hurt. It was like losing her family all over again. And, yeah. Therapy can help, but. She’s still grieving for that. And this time she’s gotta do it sober.”

Thor nodded, “My poor witchling,” he said sympathetically, “She wanted that so badly.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “But. Bucky got his.”

“I heard that too,” Thor said with a feral smile, “I’m glad I taught her the runes she put on those rings.”

“Me too,” Clint said, glancing at his watch.

“Got a place to be?” Thor teased.

“I do actually,” Clint said, smiling, “Gotta smuggle my girl a coffee... and see if I can sneak the kids in for her.”

“Ah, yes,” Thor laughed, “very important that.”

_________________

Clint slipped into the room, Lucky and Jinx at his heels and a cup of coffee in his hands. “Hey, Cupcake,” he said, smiling. Your eyes were red, and you looked like you’d been crying. But, your eyes lightened, and you smiled as the kids jumped up so you could lavish kisses and pets on them. They missed you too. They’d been a little down without you being around. 

“Hey, Handsome,” you answer, leaning up to kiss him. He kissed you softly and tucked the coffee into your hands. It was a vanilla latte this time. Sweet and hot, Just like you. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, “Are you alright?” He cradles your face in his hands and peppers you with kisses for just a moment.

“I’m okay,” you answer, kissing his palm, “I’m just tired.”

Clint tutted softly and rearranged things on the bed, Lucky taking a spot behind your knees and Jinx behind your back as he pulled you close, “Well,” he murmured, “Let’s get you a cuddle, huh?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, nuzzling his throat. He smelled so good. You missed being able to run and curl up in his lap when something was hard, and your chest hurt from the effort of holding yourself together. It always felt so safe. The feeling of his sweater under your cheek and his arms around you. “I miss this a lot,” you tell him, “I have more nightmares here than I ever did.”

Clint pulled you closer and stroked your hair, “I know, baby girl,” he sighed, “But you’re doing really good. I’m proud of you.” His heart melts when you look up at him, and he smiles, “You deserve to get better,” he says softly, “I love you. I love you so much; I don’t know how to explain it. I just want you to love yourself that much.”

“At least as much as I love you,” you murmur, making him chuckle.

“At least that much,” he agrees.

For a long minute, there aren’t any more words. There are just a few minutes of holding each other and trying to get some comfort from the closeness.

“They’ve gotta let me out of here, though,” you pout, “I miss being at home. I miss baths.”

Clint smirked, “I miss those too,” he teased, swatting your backside affectionately. 

When you make a soft needy sound, Clint curses himself internally for a minute. He wasn’t the only one that was frustrated, and he knew it. But you had even less you could do about it than he did being under constant monitoring until they let you out. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Clint murmurs, kissing your nose. “We’ll get you out, and when we get married, I’m gonna take you anywhere you wanna go for a honeymoon.”

“Anywhere?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

“Anywhere,” he answered, kissing you gently, “As long as it isn’t snowing.”

“What about a beach?” you ask, lacing your fingers through his to play with them.

“I’ve never seen you in a bikini,” he mused, “I like it.”

You like it too. Warm water and white sand. Endless sun. And Clint. All to yourself with nothing to do but let you pay attention to him. “Then that’s where we’ll go,” you murmur, nestling closer. 

“Anywhere you want, baby,” he murmurs, “If you want a beach. we’ll go to the beach.”

“Who’s gonna watch the kids?” you ask, stretching.

“Nat volunteered,” he answered, rubbing the back of your neck. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Auntie Nat will take good care of them.”

“I know,” you sigh, eyes closing.


	36. Chapter 36

Clint couldn’t sit still. He tried. But, he just couldn’t. He felt like he’d been slipped cocaine or something. He was hyper-aware of details, and he was desperate to make sure every little detail was perfect. Even though he knew Pepper had had everything well at hand. He just couldn’t stop.

“Barton,” Natasha scolded, “Breathe.”

“It feels like my heart’s gonna beat out of my chest,” Clint said, “I gotta keep going, or I’ll die.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and sighed, “Breathe,” she repeated. “Y/N is fine, I promise.”

“You have the rings, right?” he asked.

“Right,” she answered, handing him a beer that he took with a grateful smile. He didn’t know why he was so fucking nervous. When you’d kissed him good morning before slipping out of bed for your day of pampering before the wedding, nothing had changed. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” she asked, opening her own beer.

“No,” Clint said, smiling. He wanted you, probably more than he had ever thought possible. He wanted the future he could see in his head with a handful of kids and his pretty girl to bring him coffee and steal his t-shirts forever. 

Natasha felt her heart melt. Clint looked happy. The kind of contented warmth that radiated out of him made tears sting at the back of her eyes, and the wedding wasn’t even happening yet. She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and he kissed the top of her head, “Thank you, Tasha,” he said softly.

“For what?” she asked, hugging him.

“For making sure I got this far.”

The spy smiled and reached up to card her fingers through his hair affectionately, “You’re a catch,” she said, “I just didn’t count on your idea girl being a literal witch, or I would have pushed you together faster.”

“Nah,” he said, “There’s really only one thing I’d change.”

Nat smiled sadly and nodded. Clint didn’t need to say what it was. She knew it was Bucky. What he’d done to you. What he put you through.

“Well,” Nat said, “He’s not gonna be here today. Steve made sure of it.”

“I know,” he said, glancing out towards the clearing in the middle of all the cabins where Sam and Steve were building a bonfire. “And I appreciate it.”

“I know,” Nat answered, squeezing his hand.

____________

Bucky stared out at the ocean, arms folded. He desperately wished he could get drunk. He wanted to be drunk, so he didn’t have to think about Clint kissing you as you stood there in a white dress. He didn’t want to think about your wedding night and Clint’s name on your lips where he had been once. And he definitely didn’t want to consider what it would be like when you started popping out his kids. He didn’t want to think about that one bit. But he couldn’t help it. 

Those images hung in his brain, springing to the forefront no matter what he did. They lurked around every corner. And it hurt. It seared through his chest in the worst way. 

But he didn’t love you.

The longing he felt in his chest had fuck all to do with love. He knew it. There was no way he loved you. He just didn’t want someone else playing with his toy. Even if his toy had tried to kill him.

He wished he could be drunk. 

Or high.

Or that he could sleep.

Because thinking about Clint being the one to put a baby in you was just too much to bear. And he couldn’t take the thought that he hadn’t been good enough.

____________

Tony looped his arm through yours and kissed your cheek, “You’re sure you wanna do this?” he teased. 

“Yeah,” you answer, smiling a little.

“And you’re not rushing things because you’re pregnant, right?” he murmured.

“Absolutely not,” you snort. 

“Good. I’d hate to have to punch Barton in the mouth before I let him have you,” he murmured, putting his hand on top of yours in the crook of his elbow. He’s afraid to say much more. It is kinda like giving his kid away, and it makes his heart soar even as it aches. 

He remembers the scruffy 18-year- old that stuck to the shadows, a mouse running from giants and trying not to be stepped on. His little mouse that went toe to toe with a god and held her own. An act of desperation to buy them some time. One that got no news coverage and was hardly even mentioned in reports from that day. But one Tony remembered. So clearly that even now, his heart would drop a fraction thinking of it. 

When the music plays, Clint turns, a look on his face like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He can’t breathe, and his knees are jello. You’re thankful Tony has a hold of your arm because you aren’t sure you could walk if you didn’t have him leading your forward. Even in some tan slacks and a blue shirt, converse on his feet and his hair already a mess, somehow, he’s the most perfect man you’ve ever seen, and when he smiles at you shyly as Tony puts your hands together, nothing else matters. You can hardly pay attention to the words Thor is having you repeat. All you know is that the warm, calloused hand in yours was the one you wanted to hold on to for the rest of your life, and when Clint pulled you closer to dip you back dramatically and claim your lips in a kiss that made your head swim, you didn’t know anything else. 

“You’re mine now,” he teases, kissing your nose as he set you back on your feet and held you for a second.

“You’re stuck with me,” you agree, snuggling into his side as he took you back through the group of your assembled friends.

The reception, as the sun sets and the bonfire is lit, is exactly what you needed. It was chilled out, and you were just happy to be with the people you wanted to be with. Basking in Clint’s attention and plying him with kisses and champagne. At least until his hands start wandering a little too much to be decent in Public, and he throws you over his shoulder to take you to bed. 

_______

In the dark of your cabin, removed from everyone else so that you could get rowdy if you wanted to. But rowdy would require either of you to come up for air. Clothes were stripped off with deft, eager hands, and Clint tossed you gently, playfully on the bed. 

There wasn’t any stopping him. He couldn’t stop. And he knew from the feel of you that you didn’t want him to. Giggling as his stubbled jaw rasped the tender skin on the inside of your thigh, you card your fingers through his hair, “Wait,” you pout, “I’m not done kissing you.”

“I’m not going to stop kissing you,” he rumbled, pressing a soft kiss against your mound, “I’m just gonna kiss you somewhere else. Until I get tired of hearing you come.”

“Clint-” you whine. You don’t want that. You want him inside you now. You’d not made love since the night before your court date. 

“Patience,” he scolded, settling in more firmly and squeezing your thighs to make you whimper. He grins and gently parts your folds, “We’ve got all the time in the world, baby,” he murmurs, bending his head to lick lightly at your clit. “And I,” he hummed, “have been waiting for a taste of my cupcake all day.”

After that, he gives you no quarter, and you scarcely have time to do more than whimper his name as you come apart again and again. 

“Clint!” you cry softly, making him stop and smile up at you. Smirking as he took in the sight. His wife, sweating and trembling on the bed. Panting and grasping the bedding in her hands. Perfection, in his mind.

“What do you need, baby,” he hummed, kissing up your body tenderly, savoring the warmth and the salt of your skin. 

“You,” you answer, panting and pulling him down to kiss him hungrily. 

“Yeah?” he chuckled when you came up for air. “Are you sure?” he asked, teasing the head of his prick at your entrance. 

“Yeah,” you answer, “Please?”

“That sounds so pretty coming from you,” he praised, “You’re gonna take everything I have for you, aren’t you.” He kisses you gently and shivers at the contented little sound you make when he slides inside you.

“Everything,” you answer, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. You wanted him. The feel of his body against yours and the warmth of him pinning you to the bed. The sweet, hungry kisses as he fucked into you.

“Don’t stop,” you pant, leaning up to kiss him again. 

“I need the practice,” he murmurs, smiling.

“You do,” you answer, nipping his lip, “Does that mean your baby fever is acting up again?”

“So fucking bad,” he groaned, “Wanna put a baby in you. Wanna be a dad.”

You giggle and his hips stutter for just a second as he realizes how close he is and tries to slow himself down, “But,” he pants, “I’m not worried about that tonight. I just wanna fuck my wife.” He stops and smiles. He likes the sound of that. His wife. His Witchling. It feels good and for the first time in his life, he has a person that belongs to him. And when you flip him on the bed, trapping his wrists in your hands leaning down to kiss him he sighs.

“I love you,” you tell him as you lean back up. 

“I love you too,” he answers, kneading your hips in his hands.


	37. Chapter 37

Clint watched the sunrise and took a sip of coffee. It looked like a good day to spend with his wife, and the thought makes him smile. Like it does every morning when it occurs to him. 

He loves being home with you in the house. The home the two of you were building together, nail by nail and board by board you’re creating a world that the two of you can be comfortable in. When your arms wrap around his waist, it doesn’t startle him. He’s used to the lack of noise your footsteps make by now. But he still can’t figure out how there’s no vibration either. 

“What’cha think, baby?” he rumbles, still groggy. 

“I think I need to go back to bed,” you tell him, thudding your head gently against his back.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, pulling you gently to his side and kissing your head, “I tried to get home sooner.”

“I know,” you answer, “You couldn’t help it.” He proffered his coffee cup, and you take it with a soft smile and steal a sip. “Sharing your coffee?” you ask, “I must look horrible.”

“You look beautiful,” he scolds gently, “But you do look sleepy.”

“I look like I spent the night getting beat up,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” Clint chuckled, “But I still wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers.”

“Oh good,” you say, feigning relief, “It’s good to know you aren’t getting bored with me after just a year.”

“Nah,” Clint said, “You do that thing with your tongue I like.”

“Which thing?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

“Literally anything,” he says, grinning, “Any time I get your tongue to do anything for me. The best.”

“You’re such a slut,” you sigh, standing on your toes to kiss his jaw. 

“I mean yeah,” he answers, fingers searching for the hem of your shirt so he could touch bare skin, “I get to make love to you. Any time I want… Well. Almost anytime.”

You lean back against him with a snort and smile a little, “I’ve meant to talk to you about that.”

“Oh?” Clint hummed, bending to kiss your neck softly, “Something I’m not doing, beautiful?”

“No,” you giggle, tilting your head to make it easier for him. “But, I do think you finally managed to infect me with your baby fever.”

Clint stopped kissing your neck and tightened his arms around you a little, “Yeah?” he said hesitantly.

“Yeah,” you answer, half turning to look at him

“You’re sure?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. 

“Yeah,” you answer, turning your head to kiss his palm. Clint grins and tilts your chin up to kiss you slowly, cupping a handful of your ass as you set the coffee cup on the railing. For a few minutes, there isn’t any talking. 

“I better get started,” he teased, “Baby fever can get ugly if you don’t treat it quickly.”

“Oh? And what do you recommend?” you ask.

Clint makes a soft, thoughtful sound and smiles, “Well,” he muses, “In my opinion, we need to go out to the caves, and you should come swimming with me.”

“Just swimming?” you ask, kissing his jaw.

“Naked,” he adds solemnly. He really missed having his wife naked. And doing dirty things with her. Baby fever aside, he really missed his wife when he was gone. And he knew you missed him too. He had pictures to prove it.

________

Natasha took a sip from her glass and sighed, “So how’s life in the middle of nowhere?” she asked.

You know that isn’t really what she wants to know. She wants to see if you’re ever coming back. Coming out of semi-retirement to go back to doing witch things for them again. “My garden’s doing well,” you tell her smiling.

The spy’s eyes narrow for a second, “I miss you,” she protests.

“I miss you too,” you tell her, taking a drink of water. “I miss all of you, but,” you shake your head, “Bucky and I are a bad mix.”

“I know,” Natasha said, sighing, “But he did finally move on, kinda.”

“I’m glad,” you admit, “I was worried about him.”

“Even after- Everything?” she asked hesitantly.

You nod, “He’s a human being,” you answer. “He deserves to eat. Just not at my table.”

She sighed, “Yeah, but he’s plowing his was through socialites.”

“That’s their problem,” you tell her, “May he treats them better than he treated me.”

“As far as I can tell, he does,” she said. 

“Then he can continue to live,” you answer, shrugging. 

Natasha gives you a level look and exhales slowly, “Y/n-” she starts, hesitating.

“Ask, Tasha,” you say, smiling a little.

“Are you- I mean.”

“I’m not pregnant,” you answer, “If I was, I wouldn’t have come.”

The spy exhales slowly and nods, “We wondered,” she admitted, “I guess we forgot how much Barton gets distracted when you’re in the field. We thought-”

“You thought I was pregnant because he was hovering?” 

“Yeah,” she said, smiling a little, “I guess we really just want to have a baby to fuss over.”

You roll your eyes, fondly, “Y’all can always just adopt some spare scruffy kids.”

“That’s fair,” Nat said, “But Clint let slip you were trying so-”

“And that’s as far as this discussion is going to go,” you say firmly, squeezing her hand. 

Natasha pouts, “I just wanna be an aunt… Like the cool wine aunt with like no husband and a stupid amount of money.”

“On a SHIELD salary?” you snort.

“A girl can dream,” Natasha said, turning to look towards the door Thor had just walked through with Bruce.

“Witchling!” Thor said, bounding over and pulling you out of a chair and into a bone-crushing hug, “No one had told us you’d arrived!”

When you make a soft uncomfortable sound, Thor loosens his grip and takes a step back to look at you. “We missed you,” Bruce said, kissing your jaw.

“I was only gone a month,” you laugh.

“Yeah,” Bruce said, grinning, “But phone calls just don’t cut it.”

Both of them kiss your cheek and Thor tilts your chin up, “Happiness suits you,” he said. 

“It really does,” Bruce added.

“You too,” you answer, returning their kisses gently before they join you and Natasha at your table.

“When are you heading home?” Bruce asked. 

“Tomorrow,” you sigh, “Clint’s doing some demo work on the office. I should probably make sure the house is still standing.” You don’t say that you miss your house. And your pets. And that you haven’t seen Bucky and you’d like to keep it that way. But, you don’t really need to. 

“Oh,” Thor said slightly crestfallen.

“You can always come out to the house,” you remind.

“It is beautiful,” Natasha adds stretching, “Even if it is in the middle of nowhere.”

“Just means we can party as loud as we want to,” you say shrugging.

“Excellent!” Thor said, “I’ve not attended a good party in a while.”


	38. Chapter 38

“Damn it,” you whine, watching cherry tomatoes roll across the floor with a sigh. “Clint? Can you come to help me?”

The Archer looks up from where he’s explaining his plans for the basement to a very bored looking Jinx and frowned a little, walking around the dining room table, “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked. He leans on the kitchen door for a minute and shakes his head, chuckling when he notices the tomatoes on the floor.

He crosses the floor and smiles, kissing your forehead and petting your stomach lovingly, “I wondered when you were finally gonna get big enough you couldn’t bend over,” he teased. 

You whine a little. Not even with anything to say, just an irritating little noise, and he chuckles. “I’ve got it,” he soothes, kissing your nose. “Let’s get you back off your feet.”

Dinner’s not ready,” you protest.

Clint nodded, “I can finish up,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, “I don’t like how swollen your ankles and feet are getting. It looks like it hurts.”

You sigh, and he rubs your belly, “I gotta take care of my girls,” he says, giving you a cocky smile that he knows makes your heart skip a beat. “C’mon, mommy,” he coaxes, “I can do dinner. You just relax for a while.” He can see your eyes starting to water, and he’s bracing for tears. Not dramatic tears, but just tears. 

“You just got home,” you protest, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“I know,” he murmured, wiping tears away with his thumbs quickly. “But that just means I’ve got some makeup fusing to do. Let’s get you off your feet so we can get you fed. Then we’ll just chill out… Maybe even Netflix and chill.” When you giggle, he smiles and peppers your face in kisses before putting an arm around your waist to help you get settled with a quilt and a book before turning to go finish dinner and get the tomatoes off the floor for you.

By the time he comes back to the living room, both pets have claimed their spot near you. Lucky has his head on your belly protectively, and Jinkx is around the back of your neck. And Clint just watches for a moment from the doorway. It’s sweet, and he’s glad that you had them to keep you company while he was gone. And that Bruce had come out to stay for a while when Thor and Clint had had to be away. He really didn’t like you being alone right now.

He meant to tell you dinner was ready and help you off the couch. He meant to. Until his phone rang.

“Steve?”“ he answered, stepping into the other room, so he didn’t wake you.

“We need Y/N,” he said, sounding tense.

“She’s seven months pregnant,” Clint reminded him, cradling his phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Right, that’s why we don’t need her to fight. We just gotta know what we’re dealing with. Strange and Wong came up empty.”

“So you want me to drag my very pregnant wife all the way to New York because he replacement isn’t up to scratch?”

Steve sighed, “Barton-” he started.

“And not only that,” he said, “You want her to be back in the Tower when you KNOW Bucky is going to be there. And you know she needs to be close to her doctors.”

Steve took a deep breath and prayed for patience, “Bucky’s been warned. If he tries anything. Or is anything less than a perfect gentleman, Natasha is going to castrate him. And if you think for a minute medical wouldn’t take the best care of her if something happened- Not that it will, you’re insane.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Clint warned. 

“I know,” he said, exhaling slowly. “How quick can you be ready?”

“As fast as she can waddle,” Clint snorted fondly.

“We’ll send you a ride,” Steve snorted, hanging up. The Archer sighed and turned towards the living room again to try and wake you up.

“Baby?” he said gently, patting your cheek, “You gotta get up, cupcake.”

“What-” you sigh and struggle to sit up, “What happened?”

“We gotta suit up,” he sighed.

“I don’t think mine is gonna fit,” you snort.

“Probably not,” he agrees, helping you sit up, kneeling between your knees to rest his forehead on your stomach. He didn’t want to go to New York. He didn’t want you going either. He wanted to spend a few hours making it up to you. He wanted to fuss over his girls and enjoy you being needy. 

“Do we know what they need?” you ask, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I know it’s not fieldwork,” he said, kissing the swell of your belly, “You’re a little out of shape for that.”

“Round is a shape,” you pout.

“Yes, it is,” he chuckles, “But I’m pretty sure you need to at least be able to see your feet to do fieldwork.”

“That’s fair,” you sigh.

“Aside from that,” he said, pressing more soft kisses into your stomach when the baby starts moving under his hands, “Baby Natasha is just a little too little to start training.”

“Yeah,” you snort, “We should probably at least wait until she can hold her head up on her own.” You make a soft uncomfortable sound when feet find your rib cage, and Clint winces sympathetically. He doesn’t know what that feels like, but he can’t imagine it feels good.

“C’mon, mommy,” he says, offering you a hand up, “They’re sending a ride, so it must be important.”

“I swear,” you grouse, already panting from the effort of getting off your squashy, comfortable sofa, “If I have to put on real clothes just to translate some sex manual for Tony, I’m gonna riot.”

Clint laughs and swats your backside when he gets you to your feet, “That ever happened before?”

“I was learning some Voodoo things in Africa. So I’d know what I was dealing with ya know? And that douche bag called me home because he found what he thought was a sexy book.”

“Thought?”

“It was a manual from the 12th century. Using enemas to cure possession.”

“What the fuck?”

“Quack doctors have always existed, Clint,” you sigh, stretching gently, trying to wake up.”

He nodded and watched you make your way upstairs and set about getting Jinx and Lucky ready to go. On such short notice, there was no way to leave them home. Not that anyone expected him to. And by the time you made your way back downstairs, Clint had bags packed and loaded into the quinjet and was talking to an impatiently waiting Tony. 

“Can’t you waddle any faster?” Tony called, teasing. 

“Not comfortably,” you answer, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek before letting Natasha pull you into a hug.

“Wow you weren’t kidding,” she said, petting your stomach with a smile, “You probably are gonna be early.”

“No,” Clint said shaking his head, “Not allowed. I don’t think I could handle early. I don’t even think I can handle on time.”

“You’re not gonna get a choice, Clint,” Natasha laughs. 

“Especially not if little Nat takes after her aunt at all,” you remind, squeezing the red head’s hand.

Natasha felt her cheeks color and she grinned. It made her happy. She wanted to be the cool Aunt. And the fact that this baby was gonna be named after her just made it better.

“I hate to interrupt,” Bruce said from the cockpit, “But we really do need to get this show on the road. We don’t actually know how much time we have.”

“Fine,” you sigh, giving him a kiss on the cheek as you let him and Clint help you up the steps. You don’t want to do this. Not the least little bit. And you have a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach but. At least. At least Clint is going to be with you. And you know no one is just going to let anything happen. Not if they can help it.”


	39. Chapter 39

Somethings in the Compound never changed. Your office was still the same. And so was the lab. The commons. And Bucky. 

Bucky watched you get off the Quinjet from a spot out of the way and felt sick. It had been over a year since he’d actually seen you. And he’d known you were pregnant, but the impact of that news hadn’t sunk in until right now. Until he was watching Barton fuss over you, keeping an arm around your waist and stopping to kiss your forehead and pet your stomach, trying to comfort himself or soothe you, he wasn’t sure. 

He knew Steve had hoped that some distance was going to fix things. That you having left the compound was going to make Bucky get over it when you weren’t immediately in his face. 

It hadn’t.

Models didn’t cut it. They really didn’t. There was no depth. Not mutual affection. At least not the ones he fucked. The ones that didn’t want anything but a notch in their bedpost. They didn’t look up at him with the innocence that you had. They didn’t whisper his name like a prayer that sunk straight into his soul. He realized you weren’t his. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing him slowly watching Barton get the things he wanted. Knowing Clint was the one who put the baby in you. The one to make you glow like that. The one to have you looking up at him with those big, beautiful eyes. 

And it hurt. 

It had hurt a lot. It seared like a brand in his heart. And what’s worse, he knew that he had no right to harbor those feelings. To want to talk to you. But he did. He wanted so badly for that to be his baby. To be the one that kissed you good night and tucked you into bed. 

Even if he understood why. He did. He thought about it for endless hours lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling as time crawled by, and the rest of the compound slept. He played everything back in his head. Again. And again. And again. Over the last year and change. The shy overtures. That timid little request to get dinner. The confusion and the fear in your eyes when he blocked you against the wall. Knowing now what he didn’t then, he understood now why you had run away. To protect him. 

He replayed every time he let you catch him fucking someone.

And he replayed the mission. The mission that made him into a monster. Alone with you with no one to stop him from sinking his teeth into you and using your heart as his own personal punching bag. When you’d left that time, he’d considered following. Whispering all kinds of romantic things that would make you swoon and make you believe he’d just been scared. He’d wanted to. That had been the plan. But Barton had left first. 

Left only with the intention of understanding. Of bringing his friend back to the tower whether she returned his feelings or not. 

He didn’t understand how it had gotten so far. How he’d let this bitterness get this far under his skin. How he managed to let so much love go, just because he couldn’t see how much struggle you had to go through on your own. 

He felt sick watching Clint be the one to tease you and make you giggle. But, even as his heart twisted, he knew it was his own fault. And he couldn’t help the other feeling in his heart. The one that told him to be happy for you. Because you deserved this. 

____________

“I miss my bed,” you groan, squirming to try and get comfortable. 

Clint chuckled and loosened his grip to let you get situated, “You’re just gonna get up in 20 minutes to pee,” he teased.

“Yeah,, but I wanna be comfortable for at least 4 of them,” you whine, starting to tear up in frustration. 

“Sweetheart,” he tuts, kissing tears away. “What hurts? Huh? What can I do?” he asked. 

“My back and my hips,” you groan, struggling to sit up. 

“What kind of pain?” he asked, anxious. 

“It just aches. The stool Tony gave me to sit on wasn’t much better than just standing up.”

Clint kissed you softly, “Well, let’s get you resituated, and I’ll rub it all down,” he offered, “Get you relaxed.”

He helps you get on his lap and straddle him carefully. You aren’t really sure how this became the most comfortable position for that, but it was. Even if your belly made it a tight fit. Clint smiled softly and started kneading your hips gently, chuckling when you sighed in relief. “Good girl,” he praised, kissing the side of your head as you bring your forehead down to rest on his shoulder. For a few minutes, he doesn’t say much. Just rubs all the sore, tense places he can find. At least until he feels you start crying on his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong, mama?” he soothes, kissing your head, “What hurts?”

“I don’t wanna be here,” you tell him, wiping away frustrated tears. 

“I know,” he murmurs, rubbing your sides gently. You go through this every time. The worry and the frustration with it. It’s been a while since you cried about it, but then, everything makes you cry right now. Even Jinx and Lucky looking extra cute and cuddling. Or Clint bringing you the lovely little necklace you’d admired at the Farmer’s market. Or Cinnamon Rolls in bed. It all makes you cry, and most of the time, he just has to let you cry it out for a second.

“Sorry,” you apologize, wiping tears away on the back of your hand.

“Not allowed,” he corrected gently. “You being a hormonal mess doesn’t make it less okay to cry,” he scolded.

“So-”

“Don’t,” he said, popping you gently on the backside. “A few tears and a little snot isn’t that big a deal, babe. Given all the horror stories I’ve heard about women that use having a baby to just be a crazy bitch, I’ll take it.” He kisses your forehead tenderly and smiles. And it makes warmth fill your chest. He looks so soft, and it makes you want to wrap your arms around him for cuddles or rip his pajamas off. You aren’t sure which. 

“I love you, dummy,” you tell him, resting your forehead on his other shoulder.

“I know,” he chuckles, starting to rub your hips again. “You know,” he mused after a few minutes, “you’re adorable.”

That makes you snort, “Yeah, okay.”

“You are,” he insists, “I really love what you look like right now.” He wishes he could put it into words for you. Tell you how much he adores the changes and how cute he thinks your belly is. And how proud he is of you for putting your fears aside for him to take the plunge again and again. First to get married and now to have a baby with him. 

“Well, you did it to me,” you say, smiling a little.

“I did,” he agreed smirking, “And I’d do it again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… And I gotta tell you, babe, I don’t understand why you’re wearing clothes right now.”


	40. Chapter 40

“You gonna be okay for a second?” Clint asked anxiously, handing you a mug of tea and setting a cookie on your desk.

“Babe,” you tell him laughing softly, “I’m fine. Nothing is gonna happen in my office... I don’t even think Bucky knows where it is.”

The Archer frowned and looked towards the door. He knew he could have someone come stay with you. Thor, Bruce, Nat, Even Steve, they all had decided to stick near you when Clint couldn’t be nearby in case you had some kind of trouble. “You call me the second-”

“Clint,” you say softly, kissing him, “We’ll be okay long enough for you to beat up some rookies... Hit them extra for me.”

Clint smiles a little and wraps his arms around you gently, “I promise I’ll hit them extra. Are you sure-”

“We’ll be fine,” you tell him, “Strange made a mess of shit while I’ve been gone... The archive is horrendous. I should probably get stuff fixed.”

“Don’t work too hard,” he says, rubbing your sides gently.

“I don’t plan on it,” you snort, “But doing this at least gives me something to do besides sit and look pretty.”

“But you’re so good at it,” he teases.

You roll your eyes and shove him gently, “Go on,” you tell him, “go work out all your pent up aggression.”

“What aggression?” he asked, “The aggression you fucked out of me this morning, that aggression?” He grins and tickles your side, tightening his grip on you gently to keep you from getting away, “Baby, how could I be angry at anything when I got everything I ever wanted? Got me a nice house, a smokin’ hotwife, and a baby on the way.” He rests his hand on the swell of your stomach, and kisses your nose, chuckling when you start tearing up. “Stop it,” he teases, scolding gently. “So sappy,” he tuts, wiping tears away gently, “That’s not even my best work.”

“Shut up, Dummy,” you sigh, laughing softly as you stand on your toes to kiss him.

Neither of you turns when the office door bursts open, too intent on getting just a little further before he has to go. Nat doesn’t even flinch, she just sighs, “Barton, she’s already pregnant, let’s go we got rookies waiting.”

“But I gotta keep up my streak!” He protested, grumbling as he put his shirt back on. 

“Oh my god,” Natasha groaned, “It isn’t like Snapchat!”

“What’s Snapchat?” he asked, blowing you a kiss as he walked out behind her.

“Oh my god!”

You giggle and turn back to your desk, settling into your chair with a sigh. You aren’t entirely sure how Clint thought the two of you were gonna do what he was promising in this room but, you’d been willing to let him try. The ache that he started between your thighs was still there. And uncomfortable. It made getting back to work difficult.

So you don’t immediately notice someone standing in the doorway, looming awkwardly. At least not until a shadow falls over the book you’re looking at. “No, I don’t do love spells,” you say, not looking up, bored of a conversation that hadn’t happened yet.

“That’s a shame, Doll,” Bucky said softly.

You jerk your head up and push back from the desk quickly, fist clenching. Bucky can feel energy crackling, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“Easy,” Bucky said, holding his hands up. “Y/N, I just wanna talk. I wanna apologize.”

“Back up,” you growl.

Bucky doesn’t argue. You might be pregnant, and it might be a little hard for you to get on your feet from your desk chair, but you’re still dangerous. You see him as a threat, and you can and will protect yourself. And your kid. And he knows it. “Easy,” he said softly, holding his hands up, palm out. “Didn’t come down here to fight, Y/N. I don’t wanna hurt you. Or the baby. Really don’t want you going into labor right now- I just- I just wanna talk.”

The growl you give him is almost subvocal and makes him shiver. “I swear,” he said softly, “Y/N I- I was- am the worst fucking person. I’m sorry. I took out decades of pain and fear and rage on you because I thought you’d had it easy.”

You don’t sit down. Or take your eyes off of him. But he’s still breathing so he keeps talking. 

“I used you. And hurt you. And tried to ruin your life. I called you a murderer...You. I mean. I wouldn’t forgive me. I don’t expect you to forgive me, I just... I wanted to tell you I was sorry. For what it’s worth. I’m sorry and I- ’m happy for you. You and Clint are gonna have a beautiful baby.”

He doesn’t say that he wishes it was his kid. Or that he loves you. Because that doesn’t matter right now. That might ring a little hollow, given the circumstances. When you lower your hands, Bucky exhales slowly. “Is it a boy or a girl?” Bucky asked, sitting slowly in a chair. He knows he didn’t ask, but at the same time, he just doesn’t want to leave yet. 

“A girl,” you answer, cradling your stomach. 

Bucky smiles a little, trying to hide that his heartaches. He wanted this. A family. Girls waiting for him at home. A slew of girls.

“How’d Barton take that news?” Bucky asked. 

“He asked if we could name her after Nat. And bought her a pink teddy bear suit for when it’s cold... I think he took it fine.” You smile a little, remembering how soft he’d been, and Bucky looks away. You don’t look that way, thinking of him, and he knows it. You don’t have good memories of him. And it bothers him. 

“Are you gonna name her after Nat?” he asked, exhaling slowly.

“I don’t see how we couldn’t,” you snort, “She was so excited when we asked if she minded.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything, and neither does Bucky. Until he does. Because he needs to know. 

“Y/N?” he asked, “Can I- can I ask you something?”

“I reserve the right not to answer,” you tell him, still guarded.

“That’s fair,” he said exhaling slowly. “I- did you ever. With our baby-” He doesn’t get the chance to finish that question. You cut him off with an impetuous gesture and an icy look. 

“No,” you say calmly.

Bucky shuts his mouth so fast his teeth clack together in his head.

“Whatever you want to know about that, no. You lost any right to talk to me about that when you aired out dirty laundry in a courtroom.”

“That’s fair,” he said wincing, “I just- I just wanted to know.”

“You don’t get to,” you sigh, “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want it to be over.”

Bucky doesn’t get a chance to respond to that. Not before Thor barged into the room, his expression stormy. “My Lady,” he says gruffly, not looking at Bucky.

“Thor,” you say quickly, aware that the God will absolutely remove Bucky, as painfully as he can get away with if you’re distressed by him. And oddly, as angry as you still are at him, you don’t want that. You want him to eat. Just not at your table. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “Bucky was just leaving.”

Thor nodded, stepping into the tiny office, glowering at Bucky as he folded his arms. Clearly intent on staying until the other man left. Bucky took the hint and slid out of the room, shutting the door. He supposed he deserved it. In fact, he knew he did. But, that didn’t mean that being treated like he was going to hurt you felt good. 

Still. He left feeling lighter. You’d spoken to him at least. And you hadn’t killed him. It was a start. 

__________

Thor stepped closer to you, reaching out to steady you on your feet as you reach up to put a book away. “Are you alright, witchling?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, kissing his cheek while you’re already on your toes.

“And your little one?” he asked smiling a little.

“I think they’re getting a little cramped,” you say, rubbing your stomach ruefully, “she’s not stopped all day.”

Thor smiled, “May I?” he asked, hesitating before touching you. 

You nod, smiling fondly and he lays a hand on your stomach, grinning. “She’ll inherit your powers,” he said nodding. 

“She may,” you allow, “My mother and grandmother neither one inherited them.”

“She will,” he said smugly, “I can feel it.”

“If you’re wrong I’m gonna laugh,” you warn.

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take,” he said smiling, kissing your cheek and then bending and kissing your stomach gently, saying a little prayer for both of you. He didn’t know what Bucky had said to you but he didn’t trust him where you were concerned. And he didn’t trust your judgment. Not right now, or ever if you thought you could help someone. 

He just hoped that before long Clint would be able to take you home. Before Bucky had time to plan.


	41. Chapter 41

“How’s this batch of rookies?” you ask, starting to brush your hair out.

“Thoroughly uninspiring,” Clint mused.

“That’s a tidy turn of phrase to tell me that they don’t have the sense God gave paste,” you snort. 

Clint grinned and crossed the floor to kneel in front of you, “They’re just green. To be honest, they would have benefitted more from an Ass whoopin’ from you… but I dunno. You might still be silent movin’ around, but little bit slows you down a lot.”

“Just a little,” you snort, carding fingers through his hair as he rests his forehead on your stomach.

“A little,” he teases, kissing the swell tenderly, “Pretty sure Stark’s faster than you right now.”

You crinkle your nose at him, and he chuckles, “Don’t worry,” he murmurs to his daughter, “Mama still packs a punch. A wicked one.”

You shake your head, “You’re gonna have her scared of me before she gets here.”

“Nah,” Clint protests, “Just giving her a healthy respect for the woman who’s gotta give birth to her.” He smiles a little at the movement under his hands and sighs, “How’re you feelin’ baby?” he asks softly, looking up at you.

“I’m ready to go home,” you sigh.

“I know,” he soothes, “Did you have a good day?”

“It was fine,” you sigh, “At least until Bucky showed up in my office.”

Clint freezes and clenches his jaw, “I’m gonna-”

“No-” you say, kissing him quickly, “No, you will not.”

Clint cradles your face in his hands, “Did he hurt you?” he asked, anxiously, “What did he say?”

You turn your head to kiss his palm and sigh, “He- he apologized.”

“Apologized?” Clint said slowly as if the word was unfamiliar. “Li-like a human? Like with words?”

You nod, glad that you weren’t the only one confused.

Clint can read the emotions on your face. Confusion. And not a little frustration. And for some reason, it agitates his impostor syndrome. He knows it shouldn’t. You married him. You’re having a baby with him. He can feel his daughter under his hands. And you’re here. Talking to him. Joking with him. Kissing him. Without a second of agitation. But in the back of his mind, he can feel the doubts creeping in. Doubts about you. About himself. About whether you should really be with him. You loved Bucky First. You might still love him if he pushed the right button. Was he manipulating you? Was this a plan? A plot? Had he just been a means to an end for you? 

He knows it isn’t fair. He can feel your big empathetic eyes on his face. And he knows. He knows that those feelings are probably hitting you like he socked you in the face with a sock full of quarters. He can watch your eyes getting over bright. And it makes his guts twist unpleasantly. 

“Clint-” you murmur, catching his chin in your hand when he looks away. 

He takes a deep breath and raises his eyes. Bracing to be told you want a divorce. Bracing to hear that it isn’t his baby, and you just can’t take it anymore. He knows. He knows it catastrophizing, and it’s not true, He KNOWS, but he can’t stop the thoughts that are racing around in his head.

“I love you, dummy,” you say softly, smiling a little even as a couple tears slide down your cheeks. 

“But-” he starts, stopping when you cut him off with a kiss.

“I had a crush on Bucky. A stupid little crush,” you tell him. “I thought I loved him. Mostly because I wanted so fucking badly to have some stupid hallmark movie love story… But. That’s not real, handsome.”

Clint bites his lip, and you brush hair out of his eyes, “Bucky isn’t real,” you tell him, “He really isn’t. He thinks he loves me. But if you think for one second, he’d be willing to hold my hair while I puke or tuck me into bed with a brownie and a glass of milk at 3am just because I have a craving… Then three minutes later, get me nachos because I didn’t want a brownie anyway? You’re fucking insane. He wasn’t in medical with me. He doesn’t hold me through nightmares… He doesn’t write to me obscene poems… Baby. You’re stuck with me. I don’t want him. I haven’t really wanted him since the ride home from that fucking mission… And I think. I think that’s part of why what he did broke me so bad. I THOUGHT I loved him. He told me everything I wanted to hear. And fucked if it didn’t mean anything.”

Clint smiles a little and rests his forehead against your stomach, “So you don’t want a divorce?”

“Fuck you, no,” you snort, “Aside from that, I think I accidentally burnt our marriage certificate tryna make Lucky’s Birthday pancakes… and I don’t think the state of New York takes returns without a receipt.”

“How-” he chuckles and shakes his head, “Baby, you’re a mess.”

“And I’m all yours,” you say, chucking him under the chin.

“Promise?” he asks, pulling you down for a kiss.

“Promise,” you answer, nipping his lip. 

Clint can’t think after that. He needs to lose himself and banish the last little threads of anxious thoughts. The demons dogging his every step and subtly reminding him of all the ways he didn’t measure up. He needed to feel something else. To feel nothing but you. The heat of you. Silk. The breath on his neck as you cry his name. He needs to be reminded that you’re his. That he has you. Body and Soul. He wants to admire all the curves. The fact that you’re growing a baby, that is his. That belongs to both of you. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you more,” you answer, teasing. 

“I’ll let you have this one,” he grouses, pulling your tanktop off hungrily, “Because you’re really, really fucking hot.”

“You’re biased,” you tell him breathlessly as he cradles your breasts him his hands and starts peppering them with kisses.

“How the fuck do you think I got that way?” he scolds.

“Poor taste?”

“Be nice,” he scolds, biting your nipple hard enough to make you gasp in pleasure, “You’re talking about the love of my life.” he smiles up at you, “Not to mention the mother of my child… So don’t you dare be mean.”

“Clint-” you whine. 

“Take it back,” he presses, grinning, “Take it back and I’ll take care of you right, baby.”

“I’ll say anything you want. Just as long as you fuck me,” you pant. 

“That’s what I like baby,” he encourages, “Be a good girl for me and I’ll make it worth your while.”


	42. Chapter 42

Clint never thought he’d be happy to be getting up at 2am to feed a hungry baby. But as he pulled you back under the covers and made you stay so he could go pick up Baby Natasha and get her fed, he was. 

He’d missed his girls while he was away. It had been a short mission, but he felt like he missed so much. Natasha had grown, he’d swear to it as he scooped her up gently, crooning endearments.

“Hey, a little bit,” he hummed, “You’re pretty hungry, huh.” She kept fussing, and he rocked her gently as he heated her bottle. “I know it,” he answered, “Mommy gets cranky when she’s hungry too.”

“She’s not the only one, Little brother,” A voice said from the shadowy corner of the kitchen. 

Clint whips around, clutching his daughter more firmly to his chest, “Barney? What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t come to meet my sister in law and my Niece?” he asked, feigning hurt. 

“What did you do?” 

“Nothing.”

“Sure. Okay. You saw us, now go. Whatever you did, I don’t want a part of.”

Barney stands up and starts across the kitchen to stand closer to Clint to get a look at his Niece, but he doesn’t get there. Before he even manages to get words out, he’s halfway across the room stuck against the wall.

“Some guard dog you are,” you snort at Lucky, patting his head as you walk through the kitchen door.

“Y/N,” Barney said, struggling to get off the wall, “Glad to see you’re still a raging bitch.”

“Hey!” Clint said warningly.

“It’s really dangerous to piss me off, Barney,” you say calmly, leaning on the doorframe, holding him without much effort. 

“I just need a place to crash, fuck!” he protested. 

“Then why are you sneaking in? Never learned how to use a phone?” Clint asked.

“I figured your old ass was asleep,” Barney said, starting to turn red.

“Babe, ease up a little,” Clint murmured.

“He can’t spew bullshit if he can’t breathe,” you chirp.

Barney made a soft panicked noise, and Clint tried really hard not to smile. He knew you wouldn’t REALLY kill Barney. But. Barney didn’t know that. And you were probably the only person on the planet he was genuinely scared of. And that was something to savor when he did wind up in your crosshairs. Which was every time he happened to show up. You didn’t like Barney. Not a bit. You didn’t like the way he acted, and you didn’t like the way you spoke to him. Both things Clint appreciated. 

“Call her off,” he gasped.

“If you kill him, where you gonna put the body?” Clint asked, not looking up from where his daughter was now contentedly sucking on her bottle.

“I’ve for 15 acres and some quicklime in the basement, where wouldn’t I put it? Pumpkins grow pretty well over corpses.”

“Fair point,” Clint said, letting the baby see him smile, “I hope you’re listening, little bit. Mommy just taught you everything you ever need to know... but I’d really prefer it if she didn’t murder your uncle before I find out what the hell he’ doing in the kitchen with my good whiskey.”

“Fine,” you grouse, letting Barney down, half dropping him in a heap on the floor, “But he comes near my baby, and I’ll tear his throat out. With my teeth.”

Clint hands you, Natasha, gently and kisses your cheek, watching you go. He knows at least in theory that part of that was posturing. Reminding Barney who runs this house. And reminding him of his manners. But part of him also knows that you can and will seriously fuck him up if he puts his hands anywhere near that baby. You don’t trust him, and the only reason he’s still breathing is that Clint would be sad if you killed him.

“So,” Clint said, watching him haul himself into a chair, “Why are you here?”

“Like I said, I need a place to crash,” he said.

“And have you done anything that would make it illegal for us to harbor you?” Clint asked.

“Not in this county,” Barney snorted. In the dull light from above the stove, he looked sick. Granted, his recent brush with your bad side hadn’t helped but still. He looked pale. And scruffier than usual.

“Well, that’s a comfort,” Clint said, helping himself to his whiskey and sitting back in his chair. 

“Actually, I have a business proposition for you.”

“No,” Clint said, “Whatever it is, no. I just got home. I’m not leaving the girls to go do whatever half baked shit you’re working on.”

“Oh, come on!” Barney protested, “It’s good money.”

“Money I don’t need. Y/N and I have a tidy chunk of change stashed away. The house is paid off. And she makes some nice money doing consult work... Or at least she will when she goes back to work,” Clint explained.

“But that’s so... boring,” he said, nose trickling like the word tasted bad in his mouth.

“And I fucking love it,” Clint said, “My girls are healthy and happy. I’m halfway to retired, and I don’t have to worry about shit. It’s nice.”

Barney gave him a level look, “But is it enough?”

“The fuck do you mean enough?” Clint snorted.

“I mean- don’t you get bored? The same girl. Dirty Diapers? Mowing the lawn? C’ mon.”

“It’s a life,” Clint said simply, “A real life. Do you know how nice it is to not have to look over my shoulder? Or struggle to make ends meet? To not have to go along with your lame ass ideas?”

“Yeah, but like... when’s the last time you got laid?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but in case you hadn’t noticed, my wife JUST gave birth a month ago,” Clint sighed, “There’s more to life than pussy.”

“Spoken like someone who isn’t getting enough of it.”

“Or someone who understands that women are not vending machines for sex,” Clint countered. Now he remembered why he steered clear of Barney. Barney fed into all the shit he had tried to unlearn. When Barney opened his mouth, their dad came out and Clint could feel his skin crawl.

Barney sipped his whiskey, “Look,” he sighed, “All I need is a couch.”

“Alright,” Clint sighed, “But you’re gone right after breakfast, you hear me? Whatever you’re planning, I don’t want here. We’ve got a kid to worry about.”

Barney nodded, “First thing,” he agreed.


	43. Chapter 43

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan.

Clint’s head snapped up from where he was trying to interest Baby Natasha in some cheerios and Banana, but she was more interested in chewing on her hands. “What’s wrong, baby,” he asked.

“This is gonna be the shittiest family reunion,” you answer, taking a deep breath. “Stay here with Nat,” you tell him gently, turning your head to kiss his jaw as he peers out the window over your shoulder. 

Clint nods, watching the black car that rolled to a stop. With the top down, he could see the shape of your mother behind the wheel. He watches you go towards the porch, and through the screen, he can see you standing. Staff in hand on the steps. 

Natasha, sensitive to the moods in the house, fusses, and Clint turns, smiling a little as he picks her up to comfort her. “It’s alright, Little Bit,” he soothes, rubbing her back. “Mommy and Grandma have a complicated relationship,” he explains, “But that’s what happens when you put your kid on a bus to the other side of the country and tell then their evil.”

Natasha looks at him with wide eyes, and Clint kisses her little blonde head, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, baby girl. Mommy and I aren’t gonna let anything like that happen to you. Mommy would tear heaven and Earth apart if it meant you were safe... I just hope she doesn’t kill Grandma to make it happen. It’s hard to get blood out of wood grain.”

The air outside was tense. Like the coming of a violent storm. Thick and oppressive. Clint can feel it, and he knows, from the trembling in Natasha’s lip, that she can too. Her chubby, rosy cheeks are a little pale, and he hugs her closer. Clint wishes he could go stand next to you, but. You’d talked about it often. About protecting Natasha from their hateful influence. And they can’t influence her if they don’t know she exists. No letters. No calls. No contact.

“Mom,” he hears you say, nodding slightly. 

“Y/N,” she starts, “I-I-I you. You look good.”

“Thank you,” you say politely, “Now what do you want?”

“I-” she looks around anxiously, swallowing hard. “Can I come in?”

“No,” you say flatly, “My closest neighbor is 3 miles away. Unless you plan on screamin’, ain’t no one gonna hear you.”

She looks around again, clearly uncomfortable. Clearly feeling the energy whipping through the air, attracted to you and your staff. You’re a woman with presence, and Clint can, in some small way, sympathize. He had felt the ire that roiled through you. The subtle crackle of energy that came with the darkened eyes and set of your jaw. He didn’t need to see your face to know what you looked like now. Hair wild and twisting into dark loops and elf knots, looking down on her like some vengeful goddess. His vengeful goddess. And he counted his blessings that he was not on the receiving end of your anger, however reasonably controlled.

“Family business-”

“Not,” you say, warningly, “My family.” It was at that moment that Natasha broke into a wail, unable to contain the discomfort anymore, despite the security offered from Clint. Despite his arms clutching her close to his chest. 

Your mother looked at you and then at the door, and you glance back over your shoulder, “Bring her here, Clint?” you ask softly. 

Clint nods and walks across the Kitchen, shouldering the old screen door open to bring you your daughter. He wasn’t sure how, if it were magic or just the fact that you were her mom, but. Natasha would always quiet in your arms. When you hold an arm out to take her, she goes smoothly. Hiding her face in your shoulder for comfort. But not before your mother has time to get a look at her face. The blonde hair and blue eyes from Clint and your jawline and delicate nose and cheekbones. And Clint understands why you had him bring her. To save yourself the frustration of having your mom start accusing you of stealing a baby. 

“My-” your mother starts, but you cut her off.

“No,” you say in the same warning tone, “She’s no grandchild of yours. After today, you will not see her again.”

The older woman blanches, and her head falls forward, “Please,” she said, “You have to help me.”

“I have to do no such thing. I tried. Almost three years ago to save the boys. But you and Stirling chose to play dirty.”

She cringed at the memory, “But-”

“Call me a murderer, and I’ll add matricide to my list of sins,” you say calmly.

“And I’ll personally buy the pig we feed you to,” Clint added helpfully, thankful that Natasha was too small to understand you. 

“I need you to save them they-” The woman broke off and choked back a sob. 

“They’re monsters,” you finish. “Made so by your own actions.”

The woman fell to her knees with a wail, and Clint wants to reach for your hand. He knows your heart. And he knows that this is painful. That you kept yourself apart from and new of Stirling’s church. And the boys. But he knows that you need this woman to see you as an immovable force. As stronger than you see yourself. 

It was something you and Clint had discussed often before you got married. Your need to control this. To keep the toxicity from getting back into your life. And he understood. He wanted you to stay out of it. To let them tear themselves apart as they had watched from a distance while you struggled. Pretending you didn’t exist. You deserved better. Natasha deserved better. So watching you now, gazing dispassionately as your mother knelt in the dirt, he didn’t have to try to decipher the tension in your jaw. You were furious. And hurt. And the only reason you weren’t showing your teeth was the baby that was clinging to your shirt, seeking comfort. 

“There is nothing wrong with them that I have the power to fix,” you tell her. “No spirit, no demon, no curse... They are only men. Ment that have been allowed to live in an echo chamber. Men who were never taught how to live. Men who, even if I could help then would want nothing to do with me.”

Your mother looks up at you and wipes tears away, “You evil bitch,” she spat. 

“Always and forever,” you sigh, unmoved. You remember this from before her time as a God-fearing woman. The turn from pleading to posturing. Banking on a fear of her fists to get her way. And reflexively, your grip tightens on your staff. “And now,” you tell her, “It’s time for you to go.”

“Help them!” She screamed, “Help them or I swear to Christ I’ll see you burn!”

Your staff bangs on the wood of the deck making a sound like a gunshot. A bang that sends forth a shimmer of magic that washes over her. Her face contorted in a rage-filled growl. Until suddenly, she looked around dazed. “Where am I?” she asked, eyes unseeing. 

“I’m not sure,” you answer, “But your car will take you home.”

She turns from you with a vague thank you and climbs into the driver’s seat before making her slow, winding way back up the drive. Clint cannot hear the words you speak, but the power behind them makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “I can’t help the boys. But I can get her out of there.”

“But you sent her home,” Clint said frowning.

“Home. Not back to Stirling,” you clarify.

You kiss your daughter’s head and return her gently to Clint, “I think,” you tell him, “That I’m going to go take a bath. Read for a while.”

He nods and shifts Natasha over, hefting her chubby little body more comfortably against his side, “And Little Bit and I will eat some lunch.”

“Yum,” you chuckle, Kissing his cheek, “Lima beans huh?”

“Absolutely not,” Clint said, “I Only had to have her spit them at me once.”


	44. Chapter 44

Bucky watched from a distance as you walked up the hall holding your daughter by the hand. 

She had a nimbus of blonde curls and Clint’s blue eyes. But she definitely had your stubborn jaw and the delicate features of your face. And, if what everyone said was true, she had your powers. Or at least, she would someday. When she was older. Or taller. Whichever came first. 

And Clint. Ever present, following behind carrying a very fussy, teething baby and struggling to keep his grip on her. But she clearly didn’t want him. His t-shirt was damp on both sides and not as comfortable to chew on now. 

So, like you’d done so many times before, you switched kids. Quickly and simply without ever really stopping walking completely. And it didn’t matter how many times he watched it, it made his chest hurt. The ease of it. The simple domesticity of stolen kisses and tired smiles. Bucky hated it still. Almost 4 years later. Even though the both of you are retired almost completely and only come back at the behest of Fury. Or when enough people have told you that they miss you and they want to see the kids. 

The kids. Thinking of them hurts. Because he wishes he’d treated you better. Or bothered to treat you as human at all. Those would be his kids and you’d be snuggling into his side as he wraps his arm around you. Still needing to be close to you after all this time. It could be. But it isn’t. Because he didn’t.

Still. There is some satisfaction in seeing you secure where you are. You deserve that, he realizes. Probably more than he does. 

Because, he reflects quietly, he remembers what having a family, a real family feels like. Even if it’s a sort of distant day dream now. All soft sepia tones. Smelling of dust and Ivory Soap. Even if the apartment building in Brooklyn is an office now. He can remember how happy he was living there. The noise of his ma and little sisters rattling around. Christmas mornings, Sunday dinner, long rainy days. All the warmth and love and bickering. He remembered that. 

And you had never known it. Not until Clint bothered to haul you out of the hole you’d been content to crawl into until they all gave up on you. 

Bucky pours himself a coffee and he isn’t paying attention. Not really. Not until he feels something small bumble into his leg and smack their head against his knee. He looks down abruptly and finds big blue eyes looking up at him and a little lip trembling. “You’re all right, kid,” he said quietly, careful not to startle her into actually crying as you bound over to scoop her up. 

You cuddle her and set her to giggling, even as you scold her for running amok and soon, any of the tears that had been about to fall were forgotten. And you give Bucky an apologetic smile as you throw baby Natasha giggling in protest, over your shoulder. 

Somehow, you and Clint trade kids again and as he holds her giggling by the ankle while she apparently pretends to be Spiderman, Bucky feels his chest ache. It shouldn’t feel so bittersweet. He’s watched this happen. For years now. Every cutesy little thing. The kids coming and the birthday parties. 

It was insane to Bucky, how much it still hurt. How much he still hated himself for doing what he did to you... And that his arm still ached when it rained from when you liquified his bones. 

But, as he walked out of the commons’ kitchen with his coffee, he couldn’t help but admit. It was the price he paid for playing all his sick little games. And given what he did, it somehow didn’t feel like quite enough


End file.
